


Time Together

by emynn



Series: All Kinds of Time [1]
Category: Queer as Folk (US)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Angst, Blow Jobs, Canonical Character Death, Character Study, Holidays, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Missing Scene, Post-Series, Pre-Series, Recreational Drug Use, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-04
Updated: 2014-12-04
Packaged: 2018-02-27 19:44:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 25,825
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2704301
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/emynn/pseuds/emynn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Brian Kinney and Justin Taylor are a force to be reckoned with. But they weren’t destined to be together. God may have given them a little nudge, right at the very beginning, but overall? Those two epitomized the idea that mortals have debated for centuries, of free will. They are together because they choose to be. Because they want to be. That’s very special."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Time Together

_You know I don’t come here very often, and when I do, it’s because it’s really important. Well, this time … this time, God, I’m fucking terrified. Because this is the first time …_

_He’s my best friend. I’ve known him for more than two decades, and I’ve never seen him like this, so …_

_He’s always been an asshole. But that was a part of his charm. And when I started working for him, I felt like I was finally able to see past that a bit. See that hidden part of him, that …_

_It’s gone. What made him him, just vanished. Poof. Flame extinguished. And you know I know a thing or two about flames. But it’s the freakiest thing, to see him walking around, looking like his usual self, but it’s like he’s empty, a shell …_

_It’s his heart. It’s why I always adored him -- he’d always put up this tough guy front, invincible, no apologies, no regrets -- but he has the biggest heart. He may not show it in conventional ways, but he cares for his friends so deeply. But now his heart’s gone. He’s so discouraged. And I can’t help but wonder, fear, that we’ve …_

_I’ve lost him. I’m so fucking scared. Please. Please don’t let it be too late._

~*~

“Knock knock! One order of holiday cheer for a Ms. Garland?”

Judy opens the door, as she always does, with a radiant smile and a kiss for my cheek. “Hello, darling. Thank you for coming so quickly. I can’t tell you how important it is for you to be here.”

I hand her the bouquet of red and white flowers as I enter her home -- an elegant but understated mansion with apt touches of glamour, befitting of such a legend -- and remove my scarf and coat. “Well, you really only have yourself to blame. Record the most depressing Christmas song of all time and you’re bound to get a touch of the blues every holiday season.”

“Well, I think this is going to call for more than just muddling through somehow,” Judy says, as she sets the flowers in a nearby vase and leads me to her theater. I’ve always meant to ask if she had one of these in her home when she was living, or if this was simply a gift God gave her in the afterlife as a thank you for spending her over the rainbow as His right hand fag hag, but, as always, now doesn’t seem to be the time.

“Feeling the need to watch some old home movies?” I ask. “See how Liza’s doing?”

“Liza’s doing just fine, Vic,” she says, settling into a seat in the dead center of the theater. “This time we’ll be viewing one of your friends.”

I barely have time to sit in my seat next to her when a familiar face appears on the screen. He appears just as I always envision him -- beautiful and bigger than life. The indomitable, unsinkable Brian Kinney.

Except …

“Somehow I always thought he’d be keeping up with the Botox,” I say, frowning. “Fuck, he looks like shit. Not having a holly jolly holiday?”

“Apparently not,” Judy says, raising a remote in her hand. She aims it at the screen, and Brian immediately comes to life. Well, in a manner of speaking. He’s moving, but he looks as good as dead. There’s no light in his eyes, and he stumbles about with a bottle of Beam dangling precariously between his fingers. The room is vaguely familiar, but I can’t quite place it -- it’s somehow both larger and cozier than his loft -- and I lean in more closely to see. “We’ve been receiving a number of prayers for him tonight. He’s in distress, and has been struggling for some time, but tonight is critical.”

“Critical … you mean he’s going to kill himself?”

Judy sighs. “Let’s just say he’s on quite the treacherous path.”

“But you told me he had many years ahead of him,” I say. “You said that he and Justin would be screwing their brains out well into their geriatric years, traumatizing their nurses.”

“That _was_ the plan,” Judy says. “It seems we underestimated how stubborn Brian can be.”

I snort. Rookie mistake. The first thing to know when dealing with Brian Kinney is to calculate how fucking stubborn a sane individual can be, and then quadruple it. God should know better. _Judy_ should know better.

“And anyway, he still might,” Judy continues. “Perhaps this was the plan along, and God even foresaw this very conversation we’re having right now when he told me that. Or perhaps Brian really is just that stubborn that he managed to fuck up his entire life course. Who knows? It’s so hard to get a straight answer out of the good lord these days.”

I shake my head. “So, what? You want me here in case I need to be on the Brian Kinney welcoming committee?”

“Hopefully not,” Judy says. “God doesn’t want to open up the pearly gates for Brian just yet. He has decided it’s time for an intervention. And you, Vic Grassi, are just the man for the job.”

“Me?” I laugh. “You expect me to talk sense into Brian?”

“You did a pretty good job of it last time,” Judy says, patting my hand.

“That wasn’t talking sense into him,” I say. “That was tormenting him with a purpose.”

“Well, this will be a similar mission,” Judy says. “We’ll just need to adjust your method a bit. I’m not sure how he would take to such … antics right now.”

I shake my head. Brian looks like a fucking mess. It shouldn’t surprise me, given all the ways I’ve seen him abuse himself in the past, but it still does. When I last saw him on earth, when I was serving as inspiration to keep fighting, I’d thought I was leaving him in a good place. He’d beaten cancer, he’d finished the Liberty Ride against all odds, and he even seemed to be a step closer to acknowledging that he felt a crazy little thing called love toward a certain blond who’d stuck around for far longer than the one night he’d originally been allocated. But, of course, if there’s one thing Brian excels at, it’s fucking -- and, I’d gamble to say, he’s even better at fucking himself than others.

“Now, we don’t have much time,” Judy continues. “We have a lot to get through before you go down. Let’s see. We’re supposed to start when he’s young …”

“Hold on,” I say, holding up my hands. “Before we get too far into the _It’s a Wonderful Life_ routine, I should point out that I’ve known Brian since he was a kid. We can probably skip the movie and go right to the part where I sprout wings and save the day.”

“I don’t think so,” Judy says, as I knew she would, and again holds the remote up to the screen. I watch as Brian Kinney’s life zooms backwards before my eyes. “For one, wings are terribly clichéd. Nobody embarking on one of my missions will ever wear them. For another, I may not know Mr. Kinney personally, but from all I’ve heard, nobody really knows him. Most know the image, the legend, the king of no shits given who sits on a throne of fucks. There are a handful he allows in. But even with them, there are some secrets he guards like Joe did Marilyn. Sound about right?”

I blink. “Well, now I know why the big man put you in charge of this operation.”

“I know music. I know human emotion. And I know feeling entirely fucked up,” Judy says. She presses a button, and the screen freezes. A young Brian, probably no more than thirteen, is sitting at the top of a flight of stairs, pressed up as closely against the wall as possible. A familiar scowl is upon his face. “Before we begin, I should warn you that we’re not simply going to be viewing Brian’s life. In order to better equip you for your journey, you will actually process all his thoughts, _feel_ all of his his emotions. We find the process better allows our guides to feel empathy for their subjects, so they’re more understanding of their plights when they visit them on earth.”

“ _All_ of his emotions?” I ask. “Are you sure that’s a smart idea? The lust alone would probably make me explode.”

“Well, you can’t die twice,” Judy points out. “Are you ready?”

I sigh, and wish I had some popcorn and a strong drink. Immediately, both appear in a cardboard container on my lap. There are some perks to dwelling in the afterlife. “As I’ll ever be.”

~*~

“Pack your bags,” Jack Kinney said as he entered the house, kicking the door shut. “We’re moving to PIttsburgh.”

“Pittsburgh? Why in heaven’s name would we move there?”

“Got a job.” Two soft thuds sounded, but Brian didn’t flinch. He knew exactly what produced every sound his father made even without looking. Each and every sound was carefully catalogued in his head, and this one was a safe one -- simply Jack kicking off his work boots. “Tim has a lead. Job in a factory.”

“A lead? So there’s no guarantee?”

“It is a fucking guarantee, Joan,” Jack said, raising his voice. “Factory’s run by Tim’s brother. He won’t let me down.”

“Well, I can’t help but think we wouldn’t _have_ to move if you’d only managed to --”

“Oh, I’m _sure_ , Joan. You just couldn’t _help_ but think. Why don’t you _try_ for once, then?”

“You can’t deny you wouldn’t have lost your job if you hadn’t _slept_ with your boss’ wife,” Joan said, her voice going shrill. “You couldn’t control your urges, and now we all have to pick up and leave, just when we’ve finally gotten comfortable here. It’s not fair, Jack!”

Brian felt a soft touch on his shoulder. He refused to flinch. “I have a right to listen, Claire,” he said, crossing his arms over his chest. “They’re discussing _my_ life.”

“Shh,” she whispered, sitting next to him. “I want to hear, too. Pittsburgh?”

“ _Maybe_ if my frigid bitch of a wife would put out every once in a while, I wouldn’t have had to!”

“Oh, wonderful, Jack. Go ahead. Blame me. Blame me, like you always do.”

“Well, then why don’t you fucking leave, then?” Jack asked, nearly shouting now. “Huh? Go on, give it a go. Be a fucking single mom. How are you going to make a living? Being a goddamn secretary? Except then you’d have to know how to type. But don’t worry, sweetheart,” he said, and Brian knew, could see in his mind’s eye, that Jack was leering at his wife with a mocking smile, “you could still get by. You’d just have to blow the boss.”

“I would never --”

“Of course not. Not the sainted Joan Kinney,” Jack said. A cabinet opened -- the one where they kept the whiskey -- and then another -- the one that stored the glasses. “You’d _never_ get your own hands dirty. You’d sell out the kids, wouldn’t you? Hmm? Actually, not a bad idea. They’re old enough. Of course, Claire’s face looks like your mother’s, but nobody really looks at a whore’s face. And Brian --”

“Brian’s just a boy,” Joan said, her voice again rising. “He’s just a baby.”

“The fuck he is! When I was his age I was already working three jobs. It’s about time he learned to be a man. Brian! Brian, where are you?”

“Shit,” Brian muttered, scrambling to his feet. He ran to his bedroom, closing the door quietly, before climbing into bed and pulling the covers over his head.

Claire, busy sobbing her eyes out, was not so quiet.

“They’re not even fucking asleep!” Jack shouted as he moved up the stairs. “Christ, Joan, you can’t even keep them in bed. What good are you? Brian!”

Brian cursed Claire under his breath, and then both his mother and his father while he was at it. He was pretty sure it was useless, but he said a silent prayer that they’d leave him alone, that he’d be able to escape the night without another interaction with his pathetic excuses for parents.

His door flew open.

 _Fucking amount of good you are,_ Lord.

“Brian. I know you’re awake.”

“Jack, leave him alone!” Joan cried out, her anguished scream sounding more for her benefit than to warn her children.

“What do you think about Pittsburgh? You’d like to live there, wouldn’t you? Watch the Steelers? The Pirates?”

Brian made a show of rubbing his eyes and slowly sitting up. “Huh? Pittsburgh?”

“C’mon, get up,” Jack said, pulling him up hard by the shoulders. “Let’s go on a walk. I’ll tell you all about it. You and your old man. Starting a new life in a new city.”

“Sure,” Brian said, reaching for his jeans that he’d left on the floor. “Sure, Pop.”

“That’s my sonny boy,” Jack said, and cuffed him on the shoulder. The action threw Brian, still tugging his jeans on over his briefs, off balance, and he stumbled against his dresser.

“Shit,” he muttered.

Jack froze. “You watch your mouth, boy,” he snarled. “Can’t even put your own fucking pants on? You’re pathetic.” Then, with a look of disgust, he hit him across the face with back of his hand.

“Jack!”

“Go to bed, Joan,” Jack said. “I’m going to O’Toole’s.” And he was gone.

Brian kicked his jeans off and threw himself back into bed, staring at the wall.

“You know, dear,” Joan said, her voice soft and sweet. “He _does_ love you. But you know how he gets. You mustn’t provoke him.” She placed a hand on his shoulder, and he jerked away. “I’ll get you a bag of frozen peas. We wouldn’t want you to bruise. You’re such a handsome boy. Such a beautiful face.”

Brian said nothing, only pulled the covers over his head.

~*~

I pinch the bridge of my nose, unable to bring myself to look either at Judy or at the boy whose shoulders were resolutely not shaking underneath a plaid blue blanket. “Well, shit.”

“Sounds about right,” Judy says. “Did you know?”

I shrug. “Debbie suspected. Said a mother alway knew. Brian was over at her house all the time, would show up in the middle of the night. She took him in every time, didn’t say a word.”

“And Brian didn’t either,” Judy says. It’s not a question.

“Brian was never one to share any sign of personal weakness. Even if nobody in their right mind would accuse him of that. He’s had that trait as long as I’ve known him. He has his guard up 24/7.”

“I know the type,” Judy says. “Pride has fallen many a great man.”

“I’ll drink to that,” I say, taking a long sip. “And I hate to spoil the show, but I have to tell you -- he doesn’t change.”

“Hmm,” Judy says, and I notice that she has a glass of white wine in her hand. “Let’s see what’s next, shall we?”

~*~

Brian’s cheek had healed. The bruises that peeked out just underneath the sleeves of his t-shirt, however, told another story.

“You’re late, Mr. Kinney.”

“Got lost,” he said, allowing just a hint of contrition to infect his mostly nonchalant voice. “Won’t happen again, Mrs. Redbrand.”

“See that it doesn’t,” she said. “Have a seat next to Mr. Novotny. That will be your permanent seat, and I’ll expect to see you there, _on time_ , every day from now on. Now, class, as I was saying, today we’ll be returning to the Prince of Denmark. Please open your texts.”

Brian slowly moved toward the back of the room, where a gawky guy with dark hair and eyes that looked like his neighbor’s pet spaniel was waving at him. Rolling his eyes, Brian took his seat.

“My name’s Michael,” the boy whispered.

“Hey, Mikey,” Brian said under his breath.

“A little more than kin, and less than kind,” Mrs. Redbrand continued. “Can anybody tell me what Hamlet meant by this? Mr. Kinney?”

“He means that his uncle’s a fucking bastard who’s screwing his mom,” Brian drawled. “And now is his daddy as well. More than just kin given all the screwing, and definitely, _definitely_ not very kind to the good ole prince and his dead pop. Come on, Mrs. Redbrand. I thought Shakespeare was supposed to be hard.”

“Silence!” Mrs. Redbrand shouted over the class’s laughter. “Silence! As for you, Mr. Kinney, detention after school every day this week. I don’t tolerate such behavior in my class. Now, would somebody else like to answer the question? Miss Green?”

“Hamlet is expressing that his uncle, already his kin, is now something even more than that, as he has married his mother. Adding an additional letter to the word kin would make kind, however, in a quick twist of words, Hamlet is indicating that he does not consider his uncle to be kind at all.”

“That’s what I just said,” Brian muttered, and Michael laughed, just a little too loudly.

“Mr. Novotny!” Mrs. Redbrand snapped. “Is there something you’d like to share with the class?”

“No, ma’am,” Michael said, and buried his head in his notebook.

Already certain class was going to be a waste, Brian spent more of his time studying Michael than the tragedy of the Danish prince. He was fairly confident -- no, he was _completely_ confident -- that Michael was a fag. That immediately made him interesting.

At that very moment, Michael glanced up from his notebook and looked over at Brian. His face flushed bright pink, and he returned to scribbling frantically on the page. Brian surreptitiously looked over, frowning when he saw that’s all it was: scribbles. Not a single word or picture. _Weird kid_.

Michael ripped out the page, then carefully folded the paper and tucked it into his hand. “Psst,” he whispered, leaning toward a student sitting on the other side of him. “Psst!”

“Mr. Novotny!” Mrs. Redbrand said, dropping her book on her desk and storming to the back of the classroom. She snatched the piece of paper out of Michael’s hand and dropped it into the trashcan. “What has gotten into you today? You can join Mr. Kinney in detention.”

Michael blushed again and quickly glanced over at Brian. When Brian only raised an eyebrow, he hurriedly looked back at his notebook. This time, however, he didn’t even bother picking up his pen.

After class, Brian cornered Michael. “What were you doing in there?” he asked.

“What do you mean?” Michael asked, his voice only shaking slightly with nervous laughter. “Just trying to pass a note to my friend and Redbrand caught me. Big deal.”

“Yeah,” Brian said. “Except you didn’t write anything on that piece of paper, and you weren’t even attempting to make eye contact with anybody in the room to pass that note to. Not to mention your whispering could have woken the dead. I’d say, Michael Novotny, you were _trying_ to land yourself in detention with me.”

Michael laughed, only a touch too loudly. “Why would I do that?”

“I don’t know,” Brian said, leaning against a locker. “You tell me.”

“It’s not a big deal,” Michael said, adjusting the strap of his bookbag on his shoulder. “Just thought you were the new kid in school, may help to have some company in detention.”

“I don’t need your pity, Michael,” Brian said. “And what’s it to you, anyway? You don’t even know my name.”

“You’re Brian Kinney,” Michael said.

Brian raised his eyebrows.

“You’re in my first period science class,” Michael said. “I sit two tables over from you.”

“Ah.”

“Look, I just thought it might be nice for you to have somebody around,” Michael said. “If you’re so bothered by it, you can ignore me the entire time. Just thought I’d be nice.”

“I don’t _need_ you to be nice,” Brian said.

“Yeah,” Michael said, turning away. “You’ve made that pretty clear.”

“Mikey,” Brian called out, when Michael was halfway down the hallway. Michael turned around, and Brian grinned. “See you in detention.”

~*~

“Ah, yes,” I say, smiling. “The series premiere of the Brian and Mikey Show.”

“It’s interesting,” Judy says, flipping through her notepad. “My notes say Brian never fell in love until Justin, but looking at these two now, I’d peg them as the couple that ends up together.”

“Brian? Yes. If he ever was in love with somebody, it was Justin. But for Michael? Michael was head over heels in love with Brian since he was a kid. Probably from that very moment we just saw. Took him a long, long time for him to accept it was never going to happen. For a while we thought he’d never figure it out.”

“And Brian just strung him along?” Judy asks with a snort. “Honey, I dated several like that. Fucking bastards.”

“Brian’s human. He likes knowing there’s somebody who’ll always have his back, just like anybody would.” I take a long swallow of my drink. “But Brian also fancies himself a god. And what’s a god without worshippers gazing upon him with utter adoration? With Michael he found himself a … a willing supplicant.”

“Well, I certainly hope Michael wised up eventually,” Judy says. “No man is worth that.”

“Don’t you worry,” I say. “It may have taken him a decade or so too long, but he found who he was supposed to be with in the end.”

“Good,” Judy says. “I’ll check up on him later; I’m curious. But, like I said, we’re short on time. Onwards?”

~*~

“Brian! Brian!”

Brian slammed his locker shut and whirled around and fixed a cold stare on Michael. “Yes, Mikey?”

“I’ve been trying to find you all day. Where’ve you been?”

“It’s a Thursday, Mikey. I’ve been in _school_.”

“You weren’t in school yesterday.”

“That’s because it was Hump Day,” Brian drawled. “I was busy humping.”

“Hey, speaking of,” Michael said, a wide grin spreading across his face. “I’ve got something to tell you. Wanna go … well, not the Diner. Somewhere a little more private.”

“A little more private. Hmm. Isn’t that exactly where you went last night?”

Michael’s face fell. “What are you --”

Brian grabbed Michael by the forearm and dragged him through the hallway, into the empty auditorium, up the stage, behind the curtain, and out a hidden emergency exit with a disabled alarm. Once they were safely outside, Brian released his arm with a look of disgust.

“First, ow,” Michael said. “Second, how is it you know exactly how to escape this school at any given hour of the day?”

“Fucked a theater nerd in the changing area,” Brian said. “It’s smart to have all your extracurriculars covered.”

“Right,” Michael said. “So, where are we going?”

“Good to know you still at least ask,” Brian muttered.

“Okay, what’s gotten into you?” Michael asked. “I haven’t seen you since last night at Babylon, you didn’t come by my house before school like you always do, then you avoid me all day at school, on _today_ of all days, when all I want to tell you is that --”

“You lost your virginity?”

Michael blinked. “How’d you know?”

“I saw you leaving with Sap,” Brian said. He dug into his pocket and pulled out his cigarettes. “What the fuck were you thinking, Michael?”

“I was thinking that somebody was interested in me, and you were too busy getting blown in the back room to care,” Michael snapped. He reached for Brian’s cigarettes, but he yanked them out of reach and stuck them back in his pocket. “Besides, it’s nothing you haven’t done before.”

“Please, even I know better than to let Sap see me with my pants down,” Brian snorted, lighting his cigarette. “The man’s a goddamn sleaze.”

“You’re one to talk,” Michael shot back. “Your first time was with a gym teacher in the school showers.”

“Yeah, and if he did anything I didn’t want, I could have him fired in a heartbeat and carted off to prison for being a perverted, child molesting faggot. I had _leverage_ , Michael. What did you have? You don’t even have a sense of direction. I’m surprised you were able to find your way home.”

“You’re just jealous,” Michael muttered.

“Jealous?” Brian rolled his eyes. “Jealous I didn’t go home alone with a creep who’s five years away from a bad combover and who and reeks of old salami, who slips roofies into the drinks of all the underage twinks who manage to make their way into Babylon? Oh, yeah. You got me.”

“Yeah, well you’ll think differently when he owns the place,” Michael said, crossing his arms over his chest. “He told me he’s coming up with an agreement with the current owners. They’re moving to Miami in a few years and Sap’s going to buy Babylon.”

“Oh, I just bet he is,” Brian said, blowing out a harsh stream of smoke. “Fuck, Michael. What were you _thinking_? Of anybody, _anybody_ you could have fucked in Babylon, you not only fucked him, but you went _home_ with him? By yourself?”

“Well, I didn’t see _you_ offering!”

Michael’s face turned bright pink, and he looked away.

“Mikey…”

“Shut up.”

“Mikey, come on. Listen to me.” Brian tugged the cigarette from his mouth and threw it on the ground, crushing it with the heel of his shoe. With both hands, he grabbed MIchael by the shoulders and turned him to face him. “Are you listening?”

“Yeah, I’m listening,” Michael said.

“You’re my best friend,” Brian said. “You know that. You know I love you.”

“I know.”

“I want you to be happy. And I want you to be safe. You’re not going to get either if you start fucking around with me.”

“Why would you --”

“I don’t believe in love,” Brian said.

“But you just --”

“Not _that_ kind of love,” Brian said. “Romantic love. Hearts, flowers, declarations of forever … that’s all bullshit.”

“I don’t think it’s bullshit.”

“Yeah, well, you didn’t grow up with both your parents,” Brian said. “Marriage is a fucking joke. If they ever loved each other once, if they even _thought_ they did, marriage will stab that in the gut and then twist the fucking knife.”

“You don’t believe that,” Michael said softly.

“The fuck I don’t,” Brian said. “You’ll see it eventually. But you’re young, Mikey.”

“I’m older than you!”

“Not in the way it counts,” Brian said. “Give it time. You’ll come around. Only I don’t want to be the one that makes you see it.” He cupped Michael’s cheek and kissed him. “I won’t do that.”

Michael blinked. “Well, thanks, I guess.” He reached out and touched Brian’s shoulder.

Brian laughed and pulled out his cigarettes again, this time offering one to Michael. “So, how was he? The _Sap_?”

Michael shrugged, taking both a cigarette and a light. “It was all right, I guess. Only…”

“Only…”

“It hurt. Is it supposed to hurt?”

Brian frowned. “A bit. Did he use lube?”

“Well, he …”

“Michael …”

“It was all so quick.”

“ _Please_ tell me he at least used a condom.”

“Of course he did! I’m not an idiot. He even let me pick which flavor.”

Brian exhaled and leaned up against the wall. “That’s it. We’re going to Babylon tonight and we’re going to get you fucked properly. And _this_ time you’re going to follow the rules.”

“The rules?”

“Yeah,” Brian said. “One, always bring your own condoms. You can’t trust anybody else to do that. Two, don’t fuck the Sap, or anybody else who belongs behind bars. Three, do _not_ go home with anybody you don’t know.”

“But I don’t know anybody at Babylon besides you.”

“Then you fuck in the back room.”

“That’s disgusting, Brian. I don’t know how you do it. It’s covered in come, and there are all those people staring at you…”

“Yeah, and if the trick tries to pull anything other than your cock, you’ve got witnesses. At least one person in the room will notice, even if there are a dozen others too busy with a dick in their mouth to do anything.”

Michael shook his head. “Anything else?”

“Yeah,” Brian said, slinging his arm around Michael’s shoulders. “Have fun. Now, come on. We’ve got to go buy you a ‘come fuck me’ outfit. Those jeans were not doing it last night.”

“I have my leather --“

“No. What good are ‘come fuck me’ pants if they’re too tight to even take off? You need the optimal amount of give.”

Michael laughed. “I didn’t realize there was a science.”

“There’s always a science, Mikey.”

Michael reached out and touched Brian’s shoulder. “You’re wrong, you know. One day, you’ll see. You’re going to fall in love.”

“With you?” Brian snorted.

“Weirder things have happened,” Michael said, shoving his hands into his pockets.

“Right,” Brian said. He grinned. “Like Captain Astro eating that radioactive banana that _totally_ looked like a dick?”

“It did, didn’t it? I knew I wasn’t imagining it!”

~*~

“Well, what do you know,” Judy says. “Even the monster has a heart. Even if he didn’t entirely squash Michael’s hope as much as I would have liked.”

“He’d never do that. Like I said, he relies on that level of adoration. It’s like a security blanket.” I sigh. “But, he does care for Michael. Always has. May not have the most conventional way of showing it, and at times his innate asshole nature gets in the way of acting like a normal human being, but he does love him. Some of his reasons for keeping him around may be selfish, but he’d be lost without him.”

“I wonder if that’s why…”

“Why he’s in such a dark place tonight?” I ask. “Doubtful. Unless something dramatic has changed since I last looked in on the gang, those two had actually developed a healthy friendship. As healthy as it could be for those two, anyway. Michael has Ben, Brian has … well, truthfully, that’s more likely, but I don’t know why…”

“Clock’s ticking,” Judy says, and picks up the remote.

~*~

“Fuck. This.”

Lindsay adjusted the black cap on her head and turned to face Brian. “What’s wrong?”

“Another bullshit rejection,” Brian said, crumpling up the letter and throwing it into the wastepaper basket by his desk. He rubbed his temples, feeling a migraine approaching. “That was my last one.”

“I thought you received a great offer just the other day,” Lindsay said. She moved to sit on the bed next to Brian, careful not to wrinkle her robes. “From that Snyder company?”

“Ryder,” Brian muttered. “And it’s barely an offer. It’s half of what they would have been paying me in New York.”

“You also would be paying three times the amount in rent to live in Manhattan than you would here,” Lindsay said.

“But I would have been in New York,” Brian groaned, falling back onto the pillows. “Christ, does anybody get out of the Pitts?”

“Andy Warhol,” Lindsay said. “But then when he died they brought him back.”

“Of fucking course,” Brian said. “No mercy even for the greats.”

“It’s not that bad,” Lindsay said. “I’ll still be here. And Michael.”

“Yeah, and Michael’s new friends. One fairy queen, and one who was destined to be an accountant since the time he was in diapers. And he’s so old I bet he’s already back to wearing them. Honestly, Linds, when I’m not around, I do worry about who he comes into contact with.”

“Then I suppose it’s a good thing you’ll still be around,” Lindsay said. “Keep being the positive, upstanding role model you are.”

“Don’t mock me,” Brian said, covering his eyes with his arm. “I’m all out of weed. Not up to it.”

“Brian Kinney,” Lindsay snapped. “I’m ashamed of you.”

Brian bolted upright. “What now, Wendy?”

“You have the opportunity of a lifetime ahead of you,” she said, taking his hand and entwining her fingers with his. “And you’re too busy moping about not going to New York to recognize it. That’s not the Brian I know.”

“What? You expect me to take over the advertising world by storm as a marketing associate?”

“For a start, yes,” Lindsay said. “You’ll start at Ryder and be your usual domineering, _talented_ self and ingratiate yourself with all the bigwigs, work your way to the top, and take over the place. Then either you’ll become the king of Pittsburgh and start your own company, or you’ll decide to take yourself to New York and show them all what they were missing in not offering you a job when they had a chance. And then you’ll screw them all … and also put them out of business.”

Brian snorted. “You were so sweet and innocent when we first met,” he said, tapping the corner of her cap.

“I learned from the best,” Lindsay said. “And careful with that. I have to wear it tomorrow.”

“Yes, you do,” Brian said. “Which is why I don’t know why you’re wearing it now. You’ll get it all wrinkled, and you know you can’t iron polyester that cheap. It’ll melt.”

“It’s not wrinkled,” Lindsay said, but she stood up and quickly removed her commencement robes and cap and set them carefully on Brian’s desk. “Where are yours?”

“At the bookstore, I assume,” Brian said. “Didn’t pick them up.”

“Well, I’m sure it’s still open,” Lindsay said. “If we leave now --”

“I’m not going to commencement,” Brian said.

“Brian! How could you possibly not go?”

“Those robes aren’t exactly my style,” he said. “And neither is listening to some pretentious twat go on for two hours about how life is a journey that’s just now beginning.”

“But it’s your graduation,” Lindsay said, sitting down next to Brian and taking his hand. “Not only that, but you’re graduating Summa Cum Laude, with a great -- don’t give me that look -- with a great job lined up -- and would you _stop giving me that look_!”

“It doesn’t matter. It’s just an act.” He leaned in close against Lindsay’s ear and said in a conspiratorial whisper, “I hear they don’t even give you a real diploma at the ceremony.”

“That’s not what’s important,” Lindsay said. “I’m sure your family would love to see you graduate. You’ve really made something of yourself.”

“Well, given how I didn’t invite them, I don’t imagine they’ll really miss me.”

“Brian.”

“I don’t want to see them!” Brian ripped his hand out of Lindsay’s grasp. “I don’t owe them anything. I don’t have to ever fucking see them again, and that’s my right. I did my time. I got myself through school entirely on my own, never once had to go to them for help. I’m grown ass adult. I don’t need to report to Mommy and Daddy anymore.”

Lindsay pressed her lips to Brian’s cheek. “Of course not,” she said quietly, and wrapped an arm around his shoulders. “I’m proud of you, you know. I’d like to see you there.”

Brian snorted. “You wouldn’t even see me. Alas, our surnames are too far apart.”

“Didn’t you read the bulletin?” Lindsay asked. “We’re allowed to sit wherever we like. Alphabetical order is _so_ high school.”

“Well, I think I’m going to sit right here in this bed,” Brian said. “Or, better yet, with some guy sitting on my cock.”

“I was thinking I’d get Kara Dawn to mix up a special batch,” Lindsay said. “And we could have a very enjoyable commencement, then come back here. I’m sure Michael will want to join, with his _amazing_ new friends. We’ll eat, drink, and be merry, and then go out to celebrate entering this brand new fucking journey in the world. How does that sound?”

“Well, it’s not New York,” Brian said, and dodged Lindsay’s punch. “But it’ll do.”

~*~

“Well, that’s an interesting turn of events,” Judy says. “Is Brian bi?”

“As homo as they come,” I say. “But rumor has it, Lindsay is the only woman he’s ever fucked.”

“Well, everybody experiments,” Judy says. “She seems sweet. Very kind. Almost motherly.”

“They always did have an interesting relationship,” I say. “I never really understood it. But I didn’t question it. She’s good for him. She grounds him, in a way, that nobody else was ever really able to do. At least, not until …”

Judy nods. “I’m excited to meet this Justin.”

“Well, in that case, perhaps I can spare us some time,” I say. “I’ll bet you the best back massage of your life that I can summarize the years between Brian graduating college and Brian meeting Justin in five sentences or less.”

Judy wags her finger at me. “No, no, no. You’re not the one calling the shots here. I take my orders from a higher power.”

The lights flicker in the theater, and Judy sighs. “Fine. Go ahead and try.”

I clear my throat. “Brian thrives at Ryder and is practically running the company before the age of thirty. He buys a fuckpad of a loft that becomes as much a part of his identity as his sex appeal. He keeps Michael on a string, reluctantly becomes quasi-friends with Ted and Emmett, and offers up his greatest gift -- his sperm -- to Lindsay so she can have a child with her partner. And all through it all, he remains a selfish, self-destructive asshole as he sucks and fucks his way through Pittsburgh and threatens to decimate the city’s supply of drugs and booze.” I take a deep breath. “Four sentences. Did I miss anything?”

Judy looks up at the ceiling, and the lights flicker once more. “Well, then. Apparently not 100% accurate -- particularly the sucking part, as apparently Brian generally preferred to be on the receiving end of that particular act, typical -- but since the clock’s ticking, we’ll let it go. But I’m telling you now, Grassi: you better not have cost my my chance to see this beautiful man fucking other beautiful men.”

I outright laugh at that, and reach for my drink once more. “Oh, my dear, there’s little chance of that.”

~*~

It was barely midnight, Brian was coming down from a fairly pleasant buzz while getting his dick sucked in the backroom … and he was so goddamn fucking _bored_.

Maybe it was because he knew he had a presentation the next morning and couldn’t go all out, maybe it was the sinking suspicion he’d had this trick a year or so ago and he’d been just as uninspiring then, maybe it was the fact that in a few short months he’d be turning …

No.

No, it was definitely because it was the same trick. Brian gripped the back of his head and forced him to swallow his cock to the root, fucking his mouth with renewed vigor. In a few short moments he was coming. Not even waiting for the trick to stand up, Brian tucked himself back into his pants and went to find Michael.

He needed a vacation. He just needed out of the goddamn Pitts. He’d had most, if not all, the fuckable men in the city. And while he knew he could do an _exceptional_ job fucking anybody here, it almost didn’t seem worth it when the trick barely seemed to know how to work a cock.

It was a rare thought for the man who was the indisputable god of Babylon -- he didn’t care about the queens vying for the crown and title of king, every damn fag in that club knew who was _really_ the master -- but he was in need of a challenge. Somebody that would push him to reach new heights in his skills.

At least for one night. That was likely all he needed to kickstart his drive back to its normal paces.

And if not, he’d call his travel agent to arrange a vacation to some island in the Caribbean.

Brian was just ignoring his friends -- well, his friend, and then Ted and Emmett -- making their usual tired remarks about his nighttime hobbies and tossing his jacket into his Jeep when he knew, without a doubt, his night was changing for the better.

Twinks weren’t usually his type. Brian generally preferred his men to be _men_ \-- all cock and muscle and stubble. But this kid standing there, emerging from city smoke illuminated by yellow headlights to lean up against a lamppost … fuck, that was _it_. He stood poised with the cool indifference of James Dean, but with his blond hair and blue eyes, not to mention his ill-fitting clothing, he had an air of suppressed vulnerability that the greatest teenage rebel of all time had never possessed.

He made Brian’s cock hard immediately.

What’s more, while the twink was definitely young, probably too young to even be let into any of the bars on Liberty Avenue, he was already showing signs of one day being a favorite around these parts. And if Brian could get to him first -- and he had a very strong suspicion he _would_ be the first -- then he’d be in a position to make a very _big_ impression. An impression to last a lifetime.

It was exactly what he needed.

~*~

“I have to say,” Judy says, “I was expecting something a little more scandalous of their first encounter.”

I raise my eyebrow. “A grown man who’d just gotten his dick sucked in public not ten minutes earlier set his sights on a teenage boy because he needed to spice up his already lascivious sex life. How much more scandalous could you want?”

“I grew up in Hollywood,” Judy says with a dismissive wave of her hand. “The stories I could tell …”

“You know, Justin had a stint in Hollywood,” I say.

“Oh, really? I’ll have to chat with him about it later.”

“Shit. You mean --”

Seeing my panic, Judy takes my hand. “Oh, no. No, Justin has many, _many_ more years. Regardless of whatever happens with Brian tonight. Although those years would certainly be happier if --“

“Yeah, I know.” I reach for the remote, but Judy slaps my hand away.

“Nice try. I own this toy. Now, let’s see something _really_ scandalous.”

~*~

It was the best fucking night of his life, it was the worst fucking night of his life.

Brian laughed as he kissed a trail of wet, sloppy kisses up Jas -- no, Justin, he was almost positive he was Justin--’ s stomach. He was pretty sure he’d never paraphrased great American authors while having sex before. No, wait. Not American, he realized as he flicked Justin’s nipple with his tongue. British. He thought. He wondered if he could quiz Justin later and find out the answer. It was a school night, after all. It was practically Brian’s duty to make sure the kid was up on his studies.

“Brian,” Justin said, his voice breathy, a shit-eating grin on his face. “That tickles.”

Tickling suddenly sounded like an excellent idea, and soon Justin was shouting with laughter even as he toppled over a lamp and fell to the ground.

“Sorry. Sorry!” Justin gasped as Brian straddled his hips.

Brian briefly glanced over at the fallen lamp before reaching for Justin’s dick. There was barely a second this entire evening it hadn’t been hard. _Ah, the glories of youth._ “It still works.” No other words necessary, he moved to take Justin’s cock in his mouth.

Yes, a younger fuck was exactly what Brian needed. Make no mistake about it, Brian enjoyed his more experienced tricks who knew exactly how to make a man moan, the ones who knew they were damn lucky to be with him and imbued as much blatant sex appeal into their performances as their damn egos could allow. Sure, Brian knew some of it was an act, but he didn’t mind. They were getting the fuck of their lives, and he appreciated their inclination to put on a show for his benefit.

But to compare those well-rehearsed moans and practiced filthy words with the sounds coming out of this gloriously responsive blond twink writhing beneath him? Fuck, it was such a turn on. Justin was clearly overwhelmed, but he took everything Brian gave. And best of all, he wasn’t experienced enough yet to put on any acts or airs. He loved cock, he loved sucking cock, he loved being fucked by cock. And his moans, his breathy pleas for _more_ , were all 100% genuine. Entirely for Brian.

Fuck, it made him so hard.

It was why Brian was currently twirling his tongue around the head of Justin’s cock as he cupped his balls with one hand and fingering his ass with the other. It was a rare night that Brian sucked anybody off, typically only if he was _really_ horny and wanted to make a long night of it or if the trick had an exceptionally beautiful cock, but tonight definitely called for it.

“Fuck, Brian!”

Oh, yes, _definitely_ called for it.

Justin arched into Brian’s mouth, his hands clenched in tight fists as unintelligible words spilled from his lips. Brian only gripped his hips, likely hard enough so there’d be bruises tomorrow, and sucked harder. Then he recalled a trick one of his fucks had tried a few weeks ago, and deliberately hummed around Justin’s cock.

Predictably, Justin cried out and came almost immediately. Brian kept his lips wrapped around his prick, welcoming his release. Once Justin had stopped shaking, Brian moved to kiss him, transferring the hot come between their mouths.

“Mmm,” Justin said, his voice sounding a little hoarse. “That was …”

“Amazing. I know,” Brian said, pushing himself up and heading toward the kitchen. “Don’t get too comfortable. You’ll be returning the favor in a minute.”

He opened the fridge to pull out a bottle of water, downing nearly half its contents in one go. Fuck, what a night. Nothing like fucking the life out of a young trick to drown out the realization that, just a few hours ago, he had brought a fucking life into the world. Well, Lindsay had, but he definitely played a pretty big part in it. And now he had a kid. Shit.

“Mind if I have some?”

Brian glanced over at Justin and tossed him a bottle. Justin just barely managed to catch it, fumbling as it landed in his hands. Brian laughed. “Didn’t know we were moving into the juggling portion of the evening.”

Justin grinned. “There’s juggling?”

“Yeah,” Brian said, pulling out a few more bottles of water. “Like this.”

He wasn’t entirely sure what he was expecting, given that he hadn’t juggled anything successfully since he was in high school, but he wasn’t expecting to have four bottles of water come crashing down on him, one narrowly avoiding his eye. He shrugged, ignoring Justin’s laughter. “I’m better when I use dildos.”

“Ah,” Justin said, stepping into Brian’s arms and kissing him. “Makes sense.”

“But,” Brian continued, for God knows what reason, “I am _fantastic_ at handstands.”

“Really?”

Brian nodded. “The best.”

“I want to see.”

“Not now,” Brian said, taking Justin’s hand and moving it to his dick. “I just told you you were blowing me.”

“Well, I’d just think it’d be harder to do a handstand after you’ve just come,” Justin said. “My whole body always feels all limp and weak after I shoot.”

The kid had a point. “Fine. One handstand. Then you’re blowing me. And _then_ I’m fucking you.”

Justin blinked. “That’s … a lot.”

“I told you I was going to fuck you all night,” Brian said. “I don’t see the sun out yet.”

Justin swallowed, and his cock twitched. Brian smiled.

“All night,” Brian repeated, and prepared himself for a handstand.

~*~

I clear my throat. “So … exactly how tight of a time table are we on?”

“Too tight of one to give you some alone time with your right hand,” Judy says, but I notice that her face is flushed as well. “Although another stiff drink probably wouldn’t hurt.”

“I’d prefer something else that’s stiff,” I mutter. It’s one of my least favorite “gifts” of my new, eternal home, but I will away my arousal, sighing as my erection disappears. Leave it to Brian to screw me out of a good thing even in the afterlife.

“Can’t say I blame you,” Judy says. Their glasses are both refilled, and they clink them together. “That was certainly … enlightening.”

“That’s one word for it,” I say. “I’d always wondered what it was that first brought those two together and made Justin latch onto Brian as strongly as he did. Now I know. Brian Kinney doing naked handstands.”

Judy laughs. “I have to wonder if that’s a part of his regular repertoire.”

“I imagine only when he’s tweaked out of his mind. Brian is far too protective of his image to let the average trick see his ... playful side.”

“Do you think he knew from the beginning, then?” Judy asks. “That Justin was someone special?”

“I don’t know,” I say. “Even if he did, he’d never admit it, not even to himself. He’d insisted so many times he didn’t believe in love that he could never accept anything otherwise. Every trick he picked up was just a means to an end. Brian came, and they went.”

“But not Justin.”

I shake my head. “Not Justin. Poor kid. Didn’t know better, and not enough sense to listen to every single person who told him to run. Including Brian.”

Judy hums. “I don’t know. Somehow Brian strikes me as the type of person who could get rid of a pretty young piece of ass if he really wanted to.”

“Such a fucking romantic,” I laugh. “Don’t get any delusions in your head. Brian was still his typical asshole self, especially in that first year. He was deliberately cruel to Justin, especially whenever something would remind him that for somebody who didn’t believe in relationships, he was spending an awful lot of time fucking the same guy. He couldn’t stand the thought.”

“Mmhmm,” Judy says, looking back at her notepad. “That’s why Brian let Justin live with him when his dad kicked him out of the house.”

“Only until Brian kicked Justin out for accidentally forgetting to set the alarm on the loft. Did you know Justin ran away to New York to become a go go dancer?”

“And then Brian tracked him down and found him another, far more appropriate place for a teenager to live.”

“But he’d bite your head off the second you implied he might actually care for the kid.”

“And he’d kiss him publicly, in front of his friends.”

“It’s called foreplay, Judy.”

“ _Not_ as a form of foreplay. Because he simply enjoyed kissing him, and he didn’t care if his friends knew.”

I roll my eyes. “Listen, Judy. You may be a legend, but you never lived in the presence of Brian Kinney. Don’t kid yourself. His heart wasn’t exactly made of rainbows and butterflies.”

“I never said it was,” Judy says, leaning back in her chair. “But that doesn’t mean he doesn’t have one.”

“Fair.” I look back up on the screen. “So, what’s next?”

Judy doesn’t even have to say the word. I know, and my stomach clenches.

“Prom.”

~*~

On his 18th birthday, as he was balls deep in a gorgeous man from Brazil and stoned out of his mind, Brian had made a vow to himself: he would never live past thirty. He would always stay like this, young and hard and living an unpredictable, fast-paced, exciting life. The second that ended, _he_ was ended. Done. Finished. Kaput.

When he awoke the next afternoon, his head was throbbing and his dick was sore, but the vow still seemed like a good idea. And as the years went on, Brian only became more and more confident in his decision.

Nobody had discovered the fucking Fountain of Youth yet, so, really, everybody on the planet was dying. Some people just managed to be more efficient at it than others. The way he saw it, he could die at 29, or he could die at 89. What difference would it make? If he lived to old age, he’d die alone, unable to wipe his own ass, after watching his friends, such as they were, fade away one by one, either by moving, by being suckered by Hallmark’s marketing scheme for romance, or their own deaths.

But if he died young…

He could go out on top.

Brian Kinney, always young, always beautiful. Spent his days dominating in the office and his nights dominating in the bedroom. Or Babylon. Or the baths. _That_ was a story. _That_ was how legends would be made. Really, an early death was his only chance for immortality.

When the job opportunity had arisen in Manhattan, Brian had wondered for the first time since he was 18 if perhaps he’d been a bit hasty. New York would be a brand new world. He could start over, pass himself off as younger. He was sure in time he’d even believe it. Perhaps he’d give himself to his _new_ 30th birthday, whenever that would be, before he decided it was time to end it. Likely the day he found a gray hair and his knees started aching when it rained.

But then the job fell through. His friends all knew he had failed. His best friend was moving across the country. He knew the others wouldn’t stick around once Michael was gone. Well, except for Justin … for a little while, at least. In time he, too, would leave. He was heading off to college soon, and would meet some hot kid his own age. Brian would become just another figure in his past … although Brian prided himself that Justin would not likely ever entirely forget the way he felt inside of him their first time.

And so, soon after Brian’s 30th birthday, certain he was running out of time before things became even more fucking humiliating, he purchased an exquisite white silk to engage in some sexually risky behavior of an entirely new degree. It wasn’t that he was actively seeking to kill himself, as Michael seemed to think when he showed up and ruined everything. But somehow Brian had already survived all the other shit he put his body through, so clearly it was time to step up his game. Take chances. Defy death. And if he won, he could laugh in its face. And if he lost? Well, never let it be said Brian Kinney doesn’t keep his promises, especially those he makes to himself.

Still, somehow Michael’s intervention got under his skin, and now Brian’s mind was spinning for an entirely different reason. Studying his reflection in front of his bathroom mirror, Brian tugged at the ends of the scarf. Instead of being fashioned as a noose as it had been the night before, it now hung loose over his shoulders. He rather liked the effect, the starkness of the white scarf on black suit. Very European. The teenage breeders would be pissing themselves.

Christ.

He couldn’t believe he was even fucking considering this. What thirty year old man went to a high school prom? And it wasn’t like he and Justin were boyfriends, or partners, or any bullshit like that.

But …

Justin wanted him there. And Justin had been through a fucking lot in the past year. Even Brian could admit that, especially since a fair amount of it was likely due to Brian’s influence. Still, he was proud of the kid, even if he’d never say that out loud to any living soul. He was barely recognizable from the terrified twink babbling about diarrhea and breakfast cereals that Brian had fucked all those months ago. Christ, Justin was so fucking _brave_. Barely eighteen, he’d already confronted his homophobic classmates when it would have been easier to sit aside and keep his head down. He’d refused to be silenced by his “good, Christian” teachers. Fuck, he’d even stood up to his own father, had pulled him kicking and punching off of Brian, even though it meant being thrown out of his own home.

And now the little shit wanted to commit yet another brave act that Brian Kinney had never managed at age eighteen: he refused to be a good closeted little homo and take a girl to prom. No, he had to take a man. Somebody he _cared_ about.

And somehow that person was Brian.

It was all so fucking ridiculous.

But if Justin wanted Brian to show up to some fucking prom, it wasn’t the worst thing in the world. Brian could manage a single dance. Hell, he’d fucking sweep him off his feet, literally; he still remembered a few of the moves that Lindsay, with all her WASP-y knowledge, had taught him back in college when she insisted every good ad man needed to know the basics of ballroom dancing. Then maybe a nostalgic blow job in the bathroom to help him recapture his lost youth. Justin would do it, too. He’d probably be beaming ear to ear. He’d fucking love that Brian surprised him and showed up. He’d love …

“Who the fuck cares what he thinks?” Brian said out loud, grabbing his keys. “I’m Brian Kinney. He’s fucking lucky to have me.”

The drive to the hotel was a blur, mainly because Brian was distracted thinking about how this wasn’t a fucking romantic gesture, it wasn’t a sign that he cared for the kid as anything more than a regular, convenient fuck, and it definitely wasn’t a budding belief that perhaps there were worse things in life than turning thirty and knowing there was somebody like Justin who wanted him around, and that perhaps he could finally man up and treat him at least a little bit better. Not buy him dozens of red roses every Sunday or any of that bullshit, but maybe not roll his eyes so much any time he expressed any emotion stronger than lust toward him. He was so deep in his thoughts that he didn’t even realize he’d entered the ballroom until somehow it clicked that he was in a room full of latex, but in the form of balloons instead of condoms, and there was some fuck awful music playing and lots of horny teenagers wearing too much cologne.

_Fuck._

He had a second to wonder if it was too late to leave, but the instant he spotted Justin, he knew he was a condemned man.

Justin, somehow, was one of a kind.

And he was Brian’s.

It was worth it for the look on Justin’s face alone, Brian thought as he pulled Justin out onto the dance floor. That stunned, awed expression, as though he couldn’t believe he had Brian’s complete attention, like there was no place in the world he’d rather be. Sure, Brian had seen it in varying degrees over the past few months -- Justin could be as mawkish as any other teenager, maybe even more than average -- but this brought back memories of that first night. Brian wasn’t a romantic, but fuck it if seeing that look directed at him didn’t get under his skin.

It was different from dancing at Babylon. For one, Babylon would never play this cheesy ass song. For another, the second Brian led Justin to the dance floor, the entire room cleared for them instead of grinding up against them, eager to snag one or both of them for some time in the back room. And for yet another, when they danced together, it wasn’t an imitation of sex with clothes on.

Except for, in a way, it was.

They weren’t rubbing against each other, but Brian was keenly aware of how Justin felt in his arms, all hot and electrifying. There wasn’t sweat slicking their skin, but Brian had never had felt anything more erotic than Justin unbuttoning his jacket and slipping it off his shoulders. And Brian may not have been pounding into Justin’s tight little ass, but they were moving perfectly together, finding an easy, natural rhythm, Brian leading, but Justin every bit as much in control. And when Brian dipped Justin, when he spun him around and captured his lips in a kiss, a kiss that only grew more fervent as Justin’s feet once again reached the ground, well, fuck it all if that didn’t feel as intense, as fucking intimate and all-consuming, as the greatest fucking orgasm of his life.

Fuck, Justin was dangerous.

The music stopped, and Brian laughed. Justin looked so fucking dazed but also the happiest Brian had ever seen him. Brian suspected he was wearing a similarly embarrassing expression on his face, but at that very moment, he didn’t give a damn.

~*~

“Wow,” Judy says, her voice barely a whisper. “That was …”

“Yeah,” I say. I hadn’t realized any of this had happened. I’d heard bits and pieces from Deb, who’d somehow pieced it together from Jennifer and Michael and I think even Daphne, but to see it all before my eyes …

It somehow made what I knew was coming that much worse.

“You know, He warned me about prom,” Judy says with a frown, flipping through her notepad. “Maybe he got the timelines confused?”

I shake my head. My stomach is tied up even more in knots. “Just wait.”

~*~

Something had changed.

It was fucking pointless denying it at this point. Brian had never … had never even been remotely _inclined_ to … do … whatever the fuck this was. Because he wanted to. Because it would make the other person happy. Because he wanted to be happy with him. Because all night, he’d felt _something_ , some overwhelming, confusing emotion that made him simultaneously want to throw up but also do something ridiculous like take Justin in his arms for another spin around the dance floor.

That wasn’t Brian Kinney.

But maybe he could be. Maybe there was a chance he could be … well, he’d never become a Stepford fag. He wasn’t about to give up Babylon or tricks or drugs or drinking or any of that any time soon. He was thirty, for fuck’s sake, not dead.

But somehow, being with Justin, that feeling that rose in his chest when he was with him, made Brian feel like he was better. That he _could_ be better. That there was actually something to look forward to. It occurred to him quite suddenly that he’d managed to do something positive and life-affirming tonight, and for once it was something that was legal in all fifty states.

When he had Justin pressed up against his Jeep, Brian’s scarf now around his neck, he leaned in to kiss him. And then paused.

Just last night that scarf could have been the death of him. And tonight, hanging around Justin’s neck, it only brought Brian life. He’d given Justin the best night of his life, or so he said, and so it only made sense for Justin to keep the scarf. Brian rather liked that, in fact. Perhaps, in a pathetically small way, coming here tonight had granted him some level of immortality after all, if only in Justin’s mind.

It was, of course, a ridiculously romantic sentiment, but it was in line with the rest of the evening. And to be quite truthful, right now he wouldn’t give a fuck if the entire gang came out behind them in the parking garage and gawked at the picture they made at that moment.

How it had come to this, Brian would never know. But, he thought as he finally surrendered to the need to feel Justin’s lips move beneath his, he was very, _very_ glad he decided to pick Justin up outside of Babylon all those months ago.

Unable to resist a smile, especially not after seeing that incredible, sunny ( _ahh, Sunshine!_ ) smile as Justin said goodbye to him, now that he was in the privacy of his Jeep, Brian watched Justin walk away in the rearview mirror, exuberantly playing with Brian’s scarf.

Then he saw Chris Hobbs approach with a baseball bat.

~*~

“Jesus!” Judy shouts, covering her eyes.

I can’t look away. The sound of Brian’s feet pounding against the cement as he runs in an attempt to save Justin. The sharp _woosh_ of the bat and the sick thud as it connects with Justin’s head. Justin collapsing on the cold, hard ground as Brian used Hobbs’ own weapon against him, cracking his kneecaps. Brian’s desperate pleas of “no, no, no,” his anguished, horrified shout as he lifted Justin and saw the blood, all that goddamn blood, spilling from his head.

If vomit existed in the afterlife, I would have been sick.

But suddenly, there’s no sound. I watch Brian pull out his phone and shout into it, no doubt summoning an ambulance. Brian, completely dazed, needing to be pulled away from Justin’s terribly still body by the paramedics. Brian making a second call, presumably to Michael, barely able to speak, barely able to even fucking stand, as the paramedics tend to Justin. Brian riding in the ambulance, clutching at any part of Justin he can touch, daring the paramedics to tell him not to. Brian pressing his lips to Justin’s bloody head. Brian sitting in the hospital, not saying a word, the bloodied white scarf dangling around his neck, eyes dead, tears slowing falling down his face.

And then time speeds by. I see the Brian I remember from those months -- fucking stoned out of his mind, fucking more tricks than any mortal would have thought possible, absolutely out of control. Lost in his own ways, trapped by his own allure.

But there are new images as well. Brian leaving Babylon and making his way to the hospital, watching Justin sleep through a window and keeping company with the night nurse. Brian heading home, alone, peeling off his shirt to reveal a blood-stained scarf around his neck. Brian collapsing in bed, somehow looking very small and alone on that mattress.

Brian waking up again in the morning and looking like he’s trapped in hell, ready to pay his penance all over again. I have a sudden thought of that old Greek myth we had to learn back in elementary school, of Prometheus stealing fire from the gods and being punished by being chained to a rock, tortured by an eagle tearing out his gut and devouring his liver, only to have the ravenous bird return the following day, and the day after that and after that, when his liver regrew anew.

I think now that Brian would have preferred the eagle. It would have been cleaner.

“Why’s there no sound?” There’s no goddamn sound in the entire house. My voice sounds unnaturally loud.

“Some things,” Judy’s voice cracks, and I know she’s crying, “some things are too private, even for us. It happens when God knows … he knows the depth of despair, the hopelessness, the grief. And he’s sparing us, all of us, from experiencing the full brunt of it. Provides Brian some dignity and we simply deal with the … the aftershocks. We understand what’s happening, what he’s feeling, even if we don’t know word for word.”

I take a deep breath. All throughout these scenes, I’d been feeling like I was being smothered with Brian’s emotions, thanks to this little trick of the afterlife. I felt his panic, his desperation, his fear, his grief, and, eventually, this soul-crushing numbness. But now I feel guilt, and it’s so strong I’m nearly shaking from it. I suddenly realize that the reason this emotion resonates so strongly within me is not only because Brian had been feeling it intensely, but because it is now compounded by my own.

I had -- _we_ had all judged Brian terribly during that time. Only Michael suspected that Brian was struggling how to process what had happened. We were all so quick to dismiss the effect Justin had on Brian and believed that Brian was simply being his usual asshole self, moving on to replace his broken toy, ready to forget about Justin now that he could be of no use to him in bed.

“Shit.” I dig the heels of my palms into my eyes.

“That poor boy.” Judy’s voice is still rough. “To have the happiest night of your life stripped away from you. And Brian.”

I shake my head. I still feel ashamed.

“I think that was the happiest I’ve seen him,” she says. “He seemed unencumbered. Free.”

Neither of us say the words. It somehow feels wrong to say them now, looking down on others’ pasts, to put into words what Brian was feeling and had never been able to voice. But we both know. What Brian had felt that night was something extraordinary. Even he had recognized that.

“Nothing like a baseball bat to the skull to shatter any hopeful thoughts you might have.”

It’s true. Hobbs’ bat didn’t just nearly kill Justin. It didn’t just rob him of his innocence, or of full use of his right hand. No, that bat might as well have slammed into Brian as well. Because even I can see now just how much Brian had riding on that night. He had finally acknowledged his personal growth, his potential to be more, his desire to _have_ more … and with one full swing, he’d been reminded that it would never happen.

“He blames himself,” I say with complete certainty. “Not Hobbs being a psychopath, not the school allowing that toxic homophobia to flourish. He blames himself because he thinks he’s unworthy and yet he dared to think otherwise. That because he came as close to admitting that he … cared for somebody else, people had to suffer.”

Judy sighs. “Want a notepad? I have a feeling you may need to repeat those words when you go to visit him.”

“Shit,” I mutter. With everything we’d just seen, I’d momentarily forgotten that there was something even more pressing happening, right now at this very moment. “Fuck, and you said everybody’s saying he’s worse than this?”

“In a way,” Judy says. “You and I both know, despite the odds, Brian comes out of this particular tragedy. But where he is right now, he simply doesn’t have the resources to heal like he did before. I imagine it would be similar to how Brian would have reacted had Justin never woken up.”

The weight of my task hits me like a grenade. “Are you … Judy, you know I don’t want to say this, but … are you sure he can be saved? I’m only one person. I was never even especially close to Brian.”

“You, Vic Grassi, are a fucking miracle,” Judy says, and in that instant she reminds me so very much of my sister. “And Brian _will_ be saved.”

I still have my doubts, but even I know better than to defy Judy. “Any chance of the next scene being a bit cheerier?”

Judy smiles. “Well, we can certainly try.”

~*~

“Fuck!”

Brian shot up in bed, his chest heaving, his eyes suspiciously wet. He blinked, rapidly taking in his surroundings and, upon realizing he was safe in his loft, Justin snoring slightly beside him, allowed himself to breathe. His heart rate slowly returning back to its normal cadence, Brian resisted the urge to take Justin in his arms and hold him tight, tight enough that he could feel his pulse thrumming reassuringly under his skin. It had taken hours for Justin to fall asleep that night, still upset from his encounter with Hobbs at the AIDS hospice. Brian had attempted to soothe him with quiet words and soft touches, two very recent additions to his repertoire, two actions that he was pretty sure he was piss poor at performing. He fully expected there to be nightmares that night.

However, he’d assumed they’d be Justin’s.

Brian took a deep breath and held his head in his hands. It had been a long time since he’d had a nightmare. He’d had them nearly every night when Justin was still in the hospital. He’d suspected if he’d gone to bed straight after Babylon, when he was still drunk off his ass and high as a fucking kite, that he’d be knocked out too cold to dream. But that was impossible; he had to go to the hospital, and that was always a sobering experience, in more ways than one. By the time he got home, the protective shield of liquor and drugs had been decimated by the sight of Justin tossing and turning in that hospital bed, and all the memories he tried to drown out during the day confronted him full-force.

But Brian hadn’t had a single nightmare since Justin had moved in with him. Not one. He thought maybe his subconscious was trying to be on its best behavior. There wasn’t room in this bed for two traumatized basketcases, and Justin was the only one who had any right to feel that way.

Well, whether it was spurred on by the sugar overload from all those Pool Boy drinks Brian had drank that night, or if it was just the reminder that Hobbs was still fucking walking around Pittsburgh and coming within a foot of Justin, but Brian’s subconscious was really making up for months of quiet.

Naturally, it took place in the parking garage. Most of these dreams involved Brian somehow not being able to reach Justin in time to warn him about Hobbs. Sometimes it was because he could only run in place, other times it was because Justin and Hobbs kept inexplicably moving further and further away, and then there were times Brian couldn’t even manage to get out of the damn car.

Tonight’s had a slight twist. Brian had been sitting in his Jeep, the radio blasting that fucking song they had danced to in front of all the breeders in training. Suddenly the music had cut out, and it was Justin’s voice booming through his stereo system, repeating, over and over and over again, “Not as long as I’ve got you to protect me.” Brian had hurried to escape from the car, and ran, ran toward Justin, who was was walking away in ignorant bliss as …

A second Brian had stood there, a bat casually slung over his shoulder. He’d glanced over at him, smirking, and said, “Didn’t you hear? Making other people happy can be hazardous to your health.” Then he’d turned to Justin, raised the bat, and swung.

The doppelganger had then mysteriously vanished, as doppelgangers are wont to do. Brian had cradled Justin’s head in his lap, but when he’d leaned down to kiss him, Justin, through the blood dripping from his skull, had only smiled his famous sunshine smile at Brian and whispered, “I’ve got you to protect me.”

Brian shook his head. It didn’t take a shrink to decipher that dream. It didn’t matter what Justin said; Brian was certain he would always carry with him the weight of knowing Justin never would have been bashed if he hadn’t crossed paths with him in the first place. But, for the most part, he was successful in casting it aside. It wasn’t productive.

With a sigh, and one more quick check to ensure Justin was still asleep, Brian quietly got out of bed and stepped into the shower. He’d barely had time to work up a lather before company joined him.

“I thought you were sleeping,” Brian said, not turning around.

“Heard the water running,” Justin said, wrapping his arms around Brian’s stomach and pressing his head against his shoulder blade. “Thought I’d join.”

“You’ll regret that when you’re at the parade,” Brian said. “It’s not even 5 AM, and you have a long day in the sun ahead of you.”

“I told you,” Justin said. “I’m not going.”

Brian closed his eyes. He’d tried to convince Justin after Mikey had left that the parade would be good for him, but Justin had refused. And now … fuck, Brian was exhausted, he was drained, and he was all out of arguments. _It’s the end of the world as we know it._

“Bad dream?” Justin continued, as though there was absolutely nothing unusual about this situation.

“I don’t have bad dreams,” Brian said.

“Uh huh,” Justin said, toying with Brian’s hair. “So after a night of tossing and turning, and then waking up cursing and panting, you just decided to take a shower before the sun came up because … you felt like it?”

Brian finally turned to face Justin. “I thought you were asleep.”

Justin shrugged. “Couldn’t. Kept … thinking. About what Hobbs said. About what if it came true.”

“It won’t,” Brian snapped. “Fucking Hobbs.”

“Yeah,” Justin said with a little laugh. “It’s stupid.”

“It’s fucked, is what it is,” Brian said. Inwardly, he cursed himself. He was supposed to be soothing, calming. How could he tell Justin in one breath to forget Hobbs and in the next reveal that he wanted nothing more than to have another go at him with the bat, and this time he wouldn’t aim for the knees?

Justin took the soap from Brian’s hand and rubbed it up and down Brian’s chest. “Want to talk about it?”

“No,” Brian said. “It was just a dream. It doesn’t mean anything.”

“But they can really freak you out,” Justin said.

“Only if you let them,” Brian said. “Only if you let them have power over you.”

“I was afraid I’d dream of Hobbs tonight,” Justin said. “I used to have this recurring dream of coming up to the loft, but when I opened your door, it was him, and he’d yank me in, and I’d wake up screaming.”

Brian knew. Justin had had that one several times here.

“That one was the worst. Because I was dreaming of the place where I felt the safest, and he ruined it.”

Brian took the soap back from Justin and set it aside, then wrapped Justin in his arms. “Hobbs isn’t here,” he said. “I’d fucking dare him to step one toe inside and see what happens.”

Surprisingly, Justin laughed. “Yeah. I bet you’d be pretty creative. So,” he said, his fingers tracing indistinct patterns on Brian’s back, “you want to share what your dream was?”

Brian took a deep breath. “I dreamed … that you weren’t going to Pride.”

“Bullshit,” Justin said, and started to pull away.

Brian held fast. “Now, now. I don’t mock your nightmares. You don’t get to mock mine.”

“Fine,” Justin said. “Tell me what’s so terrible about my not going to Pride. I’d only hold you back from finding some stud to fuck during the parade.”

“Because we’d be living in a world where Chris Hobbs, and every other fucker like him, wins. Where they hold the power. Where you can’t even march with your own goddamn mother down a street you walk down every day because he’s crippled you. And I don’t mean your hand. I mean _you_. What makes you Justin Taylor.”

“My soul?” Justin asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Call it whatever the fuck you want,” Brian said. “But I don’t want to see you, the brave kid who stood up to his father and his school, who survived an attempt on his life that, really, _should_ have killed him, who says ‘fuck you, I’m doing it anyway’ anytime somebody tells him not to bother trying … I don’t want to see that Justin hidden away for the rest of his life because some psychopath got to his head, both literally and figuratively.”

“I didn’t say anything about the rest of my life,” Justin muttered. “Just tomorrow.”

“That’s how it always starts,” Brian said. “Just tomorrow, then just this week, then oh, might as well duck back into the closet for the rest of my life.”

“I wouldn’t.”

“Prove it,” Brian said. “Go to the parade. Prove to Hobbs that he may have gotten you when your back was turned, when there was nobody around to save you, but he’s fucking not going to get you again.”

Justin frowned. “I don’t want to go.”

“I know.”

“I’ll be a whiny little bitch.”

“I wouldn’t expect anything less.”

Justin sighed. “Fine.”

Inordinately relieved, Brian kissed Justin deeply. “We should get back to bed,” he said once they parted. “I believe we may have time for a quick fuck and then another few hours of sleep.”

Justin laughed. “Priorities.”

“Yeah,” Brian said, and turned off the shower. Reaching for a towel, he wrapped it around Justin’s body, tugging him close to him again. “Not that it means a shit, but I’m proud of you.”

Justin blinked. “For what? Giving into your persuasive techniques? Lesser men have done that.”

“No,” Brian said. “For continuing to be yourself … when those very same lesser men wouldn’t have dared for a second.”

Justin leaned up to kiss Brian again. “That was uncharacteristically sweet of you.”

“Yeah, well tell anybody about it and I’ll tell them you’re a fucking liar.”

“Who’d believe me if I did?” Justin asked. He relaxed in Brian’s arms, and Brian pulled him even closer, resting his forehead against Justin’s. “But don’t you worry. Your secret’s safe with me.”

~*~

“He was good for him,” I say.

“Who?” Judy asks. “Brian or Justin?”

“Point,” I say. Because isn’t that the truth? It was unlikely Justin would have come out of his bashing as well as he had if it hadn’t been for Brian pushing him and, dare I say it, holding his hand -- or, let’s say it, since it _is_ Brian, his dick -- every step of the way. And even if Justin had never been bashed, Brian had always treated Justin like a man, demanding he strive to better himself, to not accept anything less than what he wanted.

But Justin was good for Brian, too. He was able to reach Brian in a way I doubt anybody else was able to. And Brian was _open_ to it. He craved Justin’s touch, not just as a means to climax, but for comfort. Brian liked having Justin in his arms, those private moments when it was just the two of them alone in this great big world.

“Well, I meant that Brian took great care of Justin during this time,” I say. “He really stepped up. I remember this was about when Deb started saying that she thought Brian might actually love him. In his way.”

“What did you think?” Judy asks.

“At the time?” I shake my head. “None of us thought Brian was really capable of love. It’s only what he’d been saying for years. But what he did for Justin … he wouldn’t do that for just anybody. I don’t even think if it’d been Michael Brian would have gone to such great lengths to see him thrive again. He would have helped, a great deal, sure. But Brian seemed to take Justin’s recovery personally. Like it was his responsibility.”

“Out of guilt?” Judy asks.

“I think that’s what most of us assumed,” I say. “At least to an extent. We knew there were some feelings mixed in there, but … this was Brian Kinney.”

“And now?”

“Well, isn’t it obvious?” I lean back in my chair. “Brian knew at prom how he felt about Justin. Almost losing him made him realize just how deep that feeling went. Even if it also ensured he’d never come as close as he did that night to admitting it.”

“So, not quite smooth sailing for our boys going forward?”

“Oh, Judy,” I say. “You should know them better than that by now.”

~*~

The way Brian saw it, he had exactly two options for the evening. He could sit at home, eyes resolutely not on the clock, not thinking about what exactly what happening over at Sap’s party, not jumping any time his phone rang in case it was Justin needing a ride home or the fucking hospital needing him to identify a body, not glancing up any time he heard a noise in case it was Justin finally coming through that door.

Or he could go out and get so shitfaced he couldn’t even read a clock or remember the name of a certain stubborn blond twat who was threatening to give Brian his very first gray hair to go along with the feelings of indigestion that coiled through his stomach whenever he thought of just how he was paying for his education.

And since Brian Kinney stayed around waiting for no man, not even Sunshine, he went to Woody’s and downed five drinks before the first hour was up.

He ought to have been proud. Justin had clearly absorbed a number of his teachings: The only person you can rely on is yourself. Be your own man. Don’t accept handouts. Grab life by the balls and make it happen. The ends justify the means.

And yet he seemed immune to the most recent one Brian tried to impart, about knowing when to ask for help. Of course, Brian couldn’t really blame him. When was the last time Justin had seen Brian do that? When had Brian _ever_ asked for help?

A sudden memory flashed before his mind’s eye -- a panicked, nearly incoherent phone call to Mikey, a jumbled mess of the repeated words _Justin, bashed, head, bat, blood, please, need you, blood, please_ \-- and Brian shook his head, then downed another shot to ensure the memory stayed buried.

But what did he care anyway? So Justin let Sap give him head to get ahead. It wasn’t so long ago that Brian himself had been contemplating a similar offer. Besides, Justin had probably received hundreds of blow jobs since his recovery. The only difference was this one allowed him to make $400 a night. And if Sap was plying him with drugs … well, Justin was a big boy, and he wasn’t exactly a rookie with all the residents of Alphabet City, and then some of their suburban neighbors. He was smart. He knew what he could handle.

Brian snorted. Justin thought he could handle Sap. Sap didn’t give a fucking shit about him. He cared about his ass, about what he could bring into Babylon, about … shit, probably pleasing his fucking friends who also had a craving for pretty blond boy ass. Brian felt like he was going to puke.

He’d been so proud of himself, back in the day. After Sap had taken Mikey’s virginity, Brian had gotten his revenge as quickly as possible. He’d hit on Sap at Babylon, waited for the roofie he’d known would be planted in his drink and then, expertly, swapped drinks with him. Then he’d raised his hand, a signal to a trio of the fucking nastiest, ugliest fags he’d managed to find, who, if word on the streets was accurate, altogether were a fucking Petri dish of STDs, and let them have at it.

It’d seem so gloriously sweet at the time, but now Brian saw it for the pathetic action it was. Fuck a roofie. Sap needed a dose of goddamn cyanide. Fucking sleaze. What would he slip into Justin’s drink tonight? Who’d end up fucking him? Would Justin even remember in the morning?

Shit.

Brian stood up. Screw waiting around. He was going to find that goddamn party and drag Sunshine out by his belt loops, if he was even still wearing pants. Justin could scream at him for destroying his chance at earning a livelihood in the morning.

But then Ted showed up and started whining about not having a fucking boyfriend, and Mikey called him that he needed a drink, and Brian settled back in his seat, wondering just when the hell his life became this fucking mess.

Fucking Sap. And fucking Sunshine.

~*~

“Well, that was interesting,” I say.

“What?” Judy asks, eyebrow raised. “You didn’t know?”

I shake my head. “The boys managed to keep some things secret, even from Deb. I doubt even Justin would have been able to handle her reaction to his second career.”

Judy hums. “I don’t know. He’s a brave kid.”

“Brave, but not stupid,” I say. “So, how’d it turn out?”

Judy flips through her notepad. “The party was just about as sleazy as Brian predicted. But Justin held his own. He managed to escape and make his way back to the loft. Brian wasn’t there. Apparently he was in a holding cell after your nephew had a go at a cop.”

I laugh. _That_ I’d heard about. Michael definitely wasn’t a fan of Horvath in the beginning.

“When Brian returned, Justin agreed to take him up on his offer to loan him his tuition money.”

“Did Brian ever find out about what happened at the party?”

Judy shakes her head. “Justin never told him, and Brian would never ask. He always did, and always would, treat Justin like a man, and allow him to make his own decisions. But I think he knew. He was just relieved Justin got out before one night he wasn’t able to come home.”

I close my eyes. “What a crock of bull.”

“What?” Judy asks.

“I’ll admit back when I was still alive, I didn’t always see why those two stuck together,” I say. “Justin may have been the most mature one of that group, but he was practically a child when they got together. And Brian? Brian didn’t do relationships, anything soft, anything that would reveal himself to another person. But seeing this, now?” I shake my head. “It was clear even from that early on that Brian would do fucking anything for him. And you know what happened just a few months later? He just let him walk away. What the hell is wrong with him?”

“You mean you haven’t caught it yet?” Judy asks. She aims the remote at the screen. “Better continue watching.”

~*~

“What the fuck are you doing here?”

“Language,” Lindsay said. “Your son’s at an impressionable age.”

“Hey, sonny boy,” Brian said, lifting Gus from the stroller. He looked over at Lindsay. “Answer the question. You never come by the office.”

“Because, Brian, it’s the only place I had a chance of finding you sober,” Lindsay said, any trace of softness gone.

“I’m insulted,” Brian said. “I’ll have you know I’ve done some of my best work after a few shots of Beam and a line of cocaine.”

“Charming,” Lindsay said. “Where were you going? We’ll walk with you.”

The answer was Woody’s, of course, but Brian had a feeling Lindsay wasn’t going to let him go any time soon, and it was such a drag having some nagging lesbian on his tail. “Home.”

“Then why are you walking in the opposite direction of the parking garage?”

Brian glared at her and continued walking in the exact opposite direction of his car. “Who are you, my fucking mother?”

Lindsay, perhaps sensing a losing battle, didn’t say anything about Brian’s choice of words this time. “Brian. I’m … _we’re_ concerned. After what happened at the party -- ”

“That was ages ago,” Brian interrupted. “And didn’t you get my apology flowers?”

“Yes, you can tell Cynthia they were lovely,” Lindsay said. “But the point remains, you punched your best friend. You would never have done that if everything was all right.”

“Oh, don’t you worry,” Brian said with a laugh. “I would have punched him for his little remark even if Sunshine was sucking my dick right then and there. And that is _not_ ,” he said, raising his voice over her inevitable interjection, “me saying that I miss Justin or that I’m lost without him. I’m just acknowledging that’s what all you all seem to think. Even if it’s bullshit.”

Lindsay frowned and touched his arm. “What did Michael say?”

Brian’s smile faded. It had been a week, maybe two, since he’d brought Michael a forgiveness steak, but he could still hear his words echo in his head. _If you ask me, it wasn't worth it. You might as well have just left him lying there._ But he knew, in his own way, Michael was only trying to show his support for Brian. Even if he was going about it by being a complete asshole. Not unlike Brian himself. “None of your business.”

Lindsay sighed. “Fine. But Brian, you can’t deny that you haven’t been yourself ever since Justin left.”

“I think I can deny it,” Brian said. “In fact, one could even make the argument that I finally _am_ myself now that he’s gone off to younger pastures. _You_ have to admit that having a live-in … living with somebody was never exactly my style.”

“It hadn’t been,” Lindsay said. “But I have to say, it was the best I think I’ve ever seen you.”

“Best is an entirely subjective term,” Brian said. “Now, was there a point to this little visit, or --“

Brian’s voice trailed off as the sound of violin music cut through the hustle and bustle of the street. He didn’t even know how he could hear it -- it was practically a whisper compared to all the other noise around them. He blinked, thought he saw a flash of yellow hair, then shook his head.

“Just wanted to see you,” Lindsay said. “I want you to be happy.”

“I’m perfectly fucking happy,” Brian said. “I don’t know why that’s so hard for some people to see.”

“You know, Justin might not be with Ethan forever,” Lindsay said. “Probably won’t be, in fact. Don’t get me wrong. He’s a sweet boy, and he’s certainly a romantic. Justin’s young. He needs to experience that. But Justin’s somebody who needs to be with a man who challenges him. I imagine he’ll grow bored with Ethan soon enough.”

Brian sighed. “Linds.”

“I’m just saying, I don’t think it’s all over. Not forever. Not if --”

“Stop.”

Lindsay froze. “Oh, Brian.”

Brian said nothing, disguising the silence by tossing Gus up into the air and continuing to walk down the street. Fuck, he knew that. Starry-eyed school boys were a dime a dozen. Eventually the flowers would wilt, the romantic words would turn to irritating nagging, and the candlelit picnics would be replaced by frozen dinners in front of the TV. Justin would eventually realize he had tied himself to a twat who loved violin more than cock and who always looked like he missed a spot shaving on his chin.

Unfortunately, by then Justin would also likely be infected. He’d go looking for somebody else who said all the right things but also did all the right things. And because that person didn’t fucking exist, he’d try over and over and eventually he’d land on somebody who was close enough to fit the bill, and settle down like a good little fag and …

Gus whimpered, and Brian tucked him close under his chin. Justin and the musician wouldn’t last, but he would never be Brian’s again. Not the way he once was. Not that Brian even _wanted_ that. It was fucked up, is what it was.

“The kid’s nineteen, Linds,” Brian said, partially to fill the silence, partially to remind himself. “What did you think was going to happen? Did you think he was going to stick around forever, settle down before he even managed to swap out his fake ID for a real one? Did you think _I_ would keep him around that long? Fuck, it’s a goddamn miracle we stayed … we were …”

“I know, Brian,” Lindsay said quietly.

“She knows, doesn’t she, sonny boy?” Brian asked Gus, giving him a kiss on the cheek. He turned to Lindsay. “Why don’t you let me take the kid tonight and you and Mel can have a romantic evening fucking in flannel?”

Lindsay frowned. “I don’t know if that’s a good idea.”

“And why not? A boy needs a manly influence in his life.”

“Because for starters, you haven’t had him for a night on your own since he was an infant, and we all know how that turned out, and I don’t think the time to start is when, according to Michael, you’ve been eyes-glazed, fall-down wasted every night for nearly a month.” Her look softened. “Sorry.”

“No, no, you’re right,” Brian said, but his attention was elsewhere. Sure enough, there was the fiddler, playing some goddamn song that Brian recognized from his pathetic CD. He reached for his pocket.

“Brian,” Lindsay said. “Let’s go the other way, hmm?”

“No, no,” Brian said. “I have to make my contribution to the arts.” He pulled out his wallet, suddenly regretting his lunchtime trip to Woody’s. He’d broken his hundred dollar bill there. He could still give Ian a few twenties, but dropping a Franklin off in that ratty old case was so much more satisfying. Brian contemplated the singles in his wallet. Really, it was closer to what Ethan deserved. Except then he’d have nothing for the boys at Babylon tonight …

Handing Gus off to Lindsay, he approached Justin’s new lover boy in three long steps. “A moving performance,” he said, dropping a dollar in his case.

Ethan nodded his head. “Thank you.” He looked over Brian’s shoulder. “Ah, Lindsay! And you brought Gus.”

Lindsay smiled. “Hello, Ethan. How are you?”

“Fine, fine.” He suddenly grinned broadly. “Ah, Justin, there you are! Your friends came to hear me play.”

Brian ignored the way his gut clenched as Ethan wrapped an arm around Justin’s waist and drew him close before planting a kiss on his mouth. “Yes, I’m only sorry we weren’t able to catch the matinee. Some of us had to put in a full day’s work at the office.”

“Ah, but a life without art is a life not worth living,” Ethan said. “I’ll take my music, and my muse, over a desk job any day of the week. Although, speaking of, I did want to thank you for your generous gift to Justin. It will allow him to continue sharing his own gift with the world.”

“Ethan,” Justin whispered.

“It wasn’t a gift,” Brian said, deliberately making eye contact with Justin. “We have an arrangement.”

“I’m paying him back for my tuition. With interest,” Justin said, his eyes just as firm on Brian’s.

Well, _fuck_ it all. Brian feels like one of those strings on that damn violin, tight and taut and thrumming. Every single cell in his body was screaming out for him to reach out and take Justin and kiss him and suck him until he came, right there in the street. And if it had been anybody else, Brian would have. Things like boyfriends had never stopped him in the past. Hell, things like _wives_ had never stopped him in the past. But he wouldn’t touch a hair on Sunshine’s pretty little head.

_Because then there would definitely no chance he’d ever come back._

“Well, we should be going. Busy night,” Brian said. He cocked his head at Justin, then opened his wallet and dropped several twenties into the violin case. Ethan may only deserve a dollar, but it wouldn’t do to have Justin destroy his arteries being forced to eat ramen noodles for breakfast, lunch, and dinner. With a slight wave, Brian was off.

Lindsay, predictably, was right behind him. “Well, now that you’re done staking your territory, perhaps you’ll admit --”

“Admit what, Lindsay?” Brian asked. “I said hello to the lad and indulged Ian, who seems determined to play grown up.”

“Right,” Lindsay said. “You really think after that display I really believe you when you say you don’t want Justin back?”

“It doesn’t fucking matter what I want,” Brian snapped. He drew a quick breath. “Justin was always free to come and go as he pleased. He preferred to go. Why in god’s name would I say anything to keep him here?”

“Because he would? Because with just a few little words he never would have left?”

“Don’t you think I fucking know that?” Brian said. “Shit, Linds. I spend my days convincing nerds they’ll get laid if they were certain Eye-conic glasses, fatasses they’ll get laid if they eat at a fucking _chain_ steakhouse, middle-aged joggers they’ll get laid if they put on a Brown Athletics windbreaker … it’s a business, bullshitting people into thinking their lives would be _so_ much better if they only have this one miracle item. I could get Justin back if I tried. In a heartbeat. I know exactly the right things to say, the right things to do. But why _would_ I? Why would I bullshit him into thinking his life would be so much better screwing me on a daily basis, when we all know that’s not the case?”

“Oh, Brian,” Lindsay said. “You realize it’s not bullshitting him if it’s the truth.”

Brian snorted. “Right.”

“And perhaps,” Lindsay continued, “you shouldn’t think of it as having to convince him. More like … reminding him? Even the strongest of us need a little reassurance now and again.”

Brian shook his head. A familiar feeling was rising in his chest, one of which he was very uncomfortable handling without the caring embrace of his good friend Jim Beam. “I have to go,” he muttered, and walked away.

~*~

I first make a mental note to haunt my nephew until he pisses his pants as soon as possible, and then turn to Judy. “So, what’s the point here?” I ask. “That Brian and Justin were somehow fated to be together? That they were meant to be?”

“Actually, the exact opposite,” Judy says. “Don’t get me wrong. Brian Kinney and Justin Taylor are a force to be reckoned with. But they weren’t destined to be together. God may have given them a little nudge, right at the very beginning, but overall? Those two epitomized the idea that mortals have debated for centuries, of free will. They are together because they choose to be. Because they want to be. That’s very special. I cannot tell you how many couples are never able to master that concept.”

She looks a little wistful, and I know she’s likely thinking of several of her own failed marriages. But a second later her famous sunny smile is back on her face. “But I believe a good one is coming up.” She raised her glass, which was once again filled, and I clink mine against it. “Shall we?”

~*~

Brian stared down at the five gold cards carefully lined up in a clean row on his desk. Five little gold cards. All glaring up at him, taunting him.

He _could_ do this. He’d paid the balance on all the cards just last week. He’d already crunched the numbers -- he could max them out and have just enough to run the ad every hour until the election. All for the cool price of one hundred fucking thousand dollars.

Well, of course there was no fucking way he could pay all that back by the end of the month. Not without a job. Not if he had any prayer of paying for his loft long enough to find a buyer. Not if he wanted to goddamn live.

_Shit._

Brian thought about all those plans he’d had for those cards just a few short weeks ago. He’d been thinking of replacing his sofa for months. He’d been contemplating a new Armani suit, charcoal gray. And the Corvette did need some routine maintenance.

And then there was Sunshine. Ah, the plans he’d had for Justin.

New articles of clothing had already started to fill Justin’s side of the closet, items more sophisticated than his camo and cutoffs but still edgy enough for a budding young artist. Brian had bookmarked the website to buy the most recent software for his computer. And then the plans he’d begun for his birthday … Brian hadn’t finalized anything yet, having been admittedly distracted by Stockwell’s campaign, but he’d imagined he’d used the funds from that success to take Justin out to dinner, a _nice_ dinner not at the diner or at a restaurant more known for its sexy waiters than its food, perhaps even in New York. Justin’s birthday was a Friday, after all; Brian had even looked ahead to confirm. They could have made a long weekend of it. That wasn’t even mentioning Brian’s goal to finally take Justin away for a week, perhaps to Miami or some other hot, sandy location over Justin’s winter break.

The gold cards glinted back up at him.

He knew Justin didn’t need all those things. Fuck, Justin had basically been living in a cardboard box during his dalliance with the fiddler. The kid may appreciate the finer things in life, but he knew how to make do.

The thing was, Brian didn’t _want_ him to just make do. He wanted Justin to appreciate every single perk that came along with being with Brian Kinney. Brian harbored no illusions: he knew in time he’d do something to fuck it up, something to make Justin walk out again. What they had going now was fan-fucking-tastic, but nothing lasted forever. But if there was one thing Brian _could_ do, even if he was admittedly emotionally crippled, it was to ensure Justin was living a life of luxury. It may not keep him forever, but it certainly wouldn’t hurt.

Because, fuck it all, but Brian wanted to keep Justin around as long as he possibly could. Simply put, life was better when Justin was there than when he wasn’t. As trite as it was, he lived up to his fucking nickname. Things were brighter, lighter. What was it Deb had whispered when he and Justin showed up at the Diner together for the first time after getting back together? He’d been sitting there with his arm around Sunshine’s shoulder, toying with his long, silky strands of hair, and Deb had squeezed Brian’s shoulder and whispered, “It’s good to hear you laughing again,” and walked off without another word.

That was another thing Brian was realizing. He was aware he’d gone off the deep end in the months immediately following Justin leaving, but thought he’d managed to pull off a solid enough recovery. If Justin had never come to his senses, Brian was certain he could have gotten by.

But that illusion had been shattered the second Justin had closed his office door and leaned in to kiss him. Beyond the obvious pleasure he got from feeling Justin’s skin against his, to finally be able to hold him and suck him and fuck him, there was something _more_. There was _laughter_. That thought alone had actually astonished him afterwards, as they’d walked back to Brian’s car, both embarrassingly, humiliatingly giggly. When _had_ been the last time Brian had laughed -- and not out of some degree of sadistic pleasure, but simply pure joy? It certainly hadn’t been with any of his other tricks. Hell, Brian couldn’t even remember any other time when he’d laughed during sex.

Leave it to Justin.

The truth was, Brian was a man supremely comfortable in his own skin. Anybody who’d ever set foot in Babylon could have said that. But around Justin, he felt comfortable in an entirely different way he hadn’t even known possible. Brian knew if they could somehow bottle that up or turn it into a pill, there would be a whole new drug problem taking over the city.

But as it was, he was the only one infected. And damn, but did it have him good. Brian was, safe to say, addicted to Sunshine. He found himself reaching out for him at all times, making excuses to need to touch him or brush up against him. He toyed with his hair whenever it was within reach. He found himself acting out, performing little tricks and upping his charming wit to make sure he always had Justin’s attention. When they were at Woody’s, Brian always made sure some part of their bodies were touching, whether it was thigh to thigh or arm to leg or shoulder to shoulder. And when they danced together at Babylon, he didn’t hesitate to nuzzle against him or place light kisses on his face, kisses he would have once scoffed as being pathetically romantic, gestures from a poor sap who cared more about getting roses than getting laid.

It didn’t really count though, Brian rationalized, because he was still _definitely_ getting laid. It was just extending the foreplay in a way that he had no interest of doing with anybody except for Justin.

 _Fucking Sunshine_.

Brian shook his head. It would not do to get distracted by thoughts of pretty blond boy ass right now. He had a big decision to make, and fast. If he was going to do this, he needed to do it _now_. The election was just around the corner. If he had any fucking chance of making this whole crazy idea worthwhile, he needed to act immediately.

The sound of the door sliding open made Brian jump. Deciding there wasn’t enough time to shove the cards back into his wallet, he took three long strides to the entryway and took Justin in his arms. “So you decided to come back for your afternoon blow job after all?” he asked, nuzzling Justin’s neck.

“I wish,” Justin said, laughing as he gently but firmly pushed Brian away. “I’m running late to meet Daphne for lunch.”

“So we have ten minutes?”

“Sure,” Justin said, giving him what was likely intended to be a quick kiss but morphed into a much longer one. “If you want to be the one to explain to Daphne why I’m an hour late.”

“Ah, the charming Miss Chanders,” Brian said. “I’m sure I could make her see reason.”

“I know your techniques,” Justin said, finally breaking away and heading toward the bedroom. “Better save them for another day. She’s having boy troubles.”

“All the more reason for me to _chat_ with her.”

“Is that what they’re calling it these days?” Justin asked, crouching on the floor. “Shit!”

“ _Why_ exactly are you in the bedroom in the middle of the day if you’re refusing to put out?” Brian asked.

“Can’t find my wallet,” Justin said, standing again. “Thought I may have dropped it here.”

Justin’s phone rang, and Brian took the opportunity to go back to his desk and discreetly stick the cards back into his wallet and then his wallet into his pocket. Then he bounded back up to Justin, wrapping his arms around his waist even as Justin continued to assure Daphne he’d be there in ten minutes.

Brian took the phone. “Daphne! So here’s the thing. Justin, ever the gentleman, is insisting he doesn’t have time to get his cock sucked because he’s running late to meet you. However, I’m determined to make him have a _spectacular_ orgasm. I plan on kicking him out and then sending him filthy text messages all throughout your lunch. Report back to me when he comes in his pants, okay? Can’t trust Sunshine to share all the details. Yes, yes, it _does_ sound like fun. Take a picture, okay? Thanks, darling.” Closing the phone, he handed it back to Justin. “Daphne can’t _wait_ to see you.”

“Thanks,” Justin said, sticking his phone back in his pocket. “But if I don’t find my fucking wallet …”

“Hey,” Brian said, and turned Justin to face him. Not saying a word, he reached a hand out and cupped Justin’s cheek. Incapable of resisting, his other hand snaked around the back of his head, gripping his hair tightly. Carefully, he pulled Justin in for the lightest of kisses.

“Hey,” Justin said quietly. “Are you okay?”

Brian bit his lip, continuing to rub his thumb over Justin’s cheekbone. He was tempted, _so_ fucking tempted, to ask Justin what he thought. If it would be worth it. What would happen if Stockwell won anyway. What they’d do if it worked, and he lost. Where he would go, with New York completely out of the picture and no desire to stay in Pittsburgh and have everybody witness his fall from grace.

If Justin would still continue to stick around.

“Brian?”

Brian shook his head. There was no need to ask; he knew exactly what Justin would say. This was the kid who’d sacrificed all his hopes and plans for a future as an artist, after working his ass off to even be able to draw again, let alone stay enrolled in the state’s most prestigious art school, all because he refused to abandon his principles.

Shit. When did he begin taking life lessons from _Sunshine_?

God help him.

“Yeah,” Brian said, reaching for his wallet. He pulled out a hundred dollar bill. “Here. Take Daphne someplace a bit nicer than the Diner, hmm?”

“Brian!”

“You can either take it, or risk getting yourself killed when you’re another hour late looking for your wallet,” Brian said. He shoved the bill into Justin’s back pocket, taking the opportunity to squeeze his ass. It would likely be his last present to Justin for a very long time. He knew Justin and Daphne wouldn’t end up at a nice restaurant. They’d go to the Diner and then pick up some booze -- whiskey for Justin and some disgustingly sweet wine for Daphne -- and then get shitfaced back at their apartment. Ah, well. It was what Justin wanted. “Go on.”

Justin kissed Brian again. “Thanks. Woody’s later?”

Brian nodded. “Later.”

Justin grinned and headed for the door. “See ya.”

“Wait.”

“Yeah?”

“I wasn’t kidding about making you come,” Brian said. “Tell Daphne I expect that picture.”

“It’s rude to keep your phone out in a fancy restaurant,” Justin said.

“Just try to resist me,” Brian said.

Justin laughed and pulled open the door. “I’ve learned long ago that’s impossible.”

Brian waited until the door was closed and then took out his wallet, staring once again at the gold cards.

He had a very, _very_ expensive phone call to make.

And then he’d have some fun with Sunshine.

~*~

The screen freezes on Brian’s face, his lips curved up ever so slightly as he stares at the closed door, his wallet still open in his hands. I’ve never been an especially sentimental person, but I can’t help but smile at the sight. “Justin’s good for him,” I say. “Leave it to Brian to need a role model more than a decade his junior.”

Judy laughs. “Different strokes for different folks.”

“And Brian’s as different as they come.”

“Hmm,” Judy says, smiling. “I like him.”

“You’ve fallen under his spell too, huh?” Despite my words, there’s no harshness in my voice. Brian may act like an ass 95 percent of the time, but that remaining five percent -- especially when I’m sitting here, feeling all of Brian’s emotions coursing through my veins -- are all too revealing. “Justin really was a positive influence on him. He made him better.”

“I’ll give you the first part,” Judy agrees. “But to paraphrase a certain good witch all dressed in pink sparkles, Brian had the power within him the whole time. Justin just made him realize it.”

“Are you comparing Justin to a pair of ruby slippers?”

“You have to admit, he’d look fabulous in them,” Judy says, laughing.

“I always did like a good-looking boy in heels,” I say, raising my glass once more. “So. Is that the point? Brian was secretly a good guy all along, and Justin made it come out of hiding, and so …”

“If that was all there was to it, you’d be able to finish that sentence without looking to me to supply the answer,” Judy says, the amusement fading from her face.

“Christ,” I say. “I feel like I’m studying for a fucking college course.”

“Well, it’s a bitch of a final exam,” Judy says, and aims the remote at the screen once more.

~*~

Brian stared up at the ceiling, then at the clock, and then back up to the ceiling. Fuck their fucking 3 AM rule. It was barely after midnight and Brian was already itching to go out searching for Justin. The little twat wasn’t answering his cell phone, but that was fairly par for course these days. And so Brian stayed in bed, carefully on his own side, his phone cradled in his hand, and waited.

Fucking Cody and his fucking Pink Posse. Despite what people might think, Brian actually had a relatively short list of people he wouldn’t hesitate to punch in the face, and right now, if Daphne was correct, Justin was with two of them.

It really was fucking ironic. The two qualities Brian would actually admit to others that pushed Justin into the realm of extraordinary -- his courage and his sense of justice -- were the two qualities that would likely get him killed.

Christ. What the fuck had possessed him to go after fucking Hobbs? Who the hell was this Cody who was able to convince Justin this was a good idea? To go around looking for trouble, carrying a goddamn _gun_? Brian glanced down at his phone again. Ever since Daphne had come by his office, ever since he’d fed her the biggest crock of shit that if Justin got hurt, at least he fought back and didn’t run away, he couldn’t shake the fear that he’d have to make another trip to goddamn Allegheny General tonight, that the next time he’d see Justin would be in a body bag.

But this wasn’t his fight. That much had been made clear, given the way Justin had bitten Brian’s head off any time he even hinted that Cody might be batshit. Brian just had to sit and wait -- _not_ one of his greatest talents -- and hope that Justin learned from his mistakes, and didn’t manage to get himself killed before the lesson sunk in.

“Well,” he muttered to himself, “at least it’s not the fucking fiddler.”

Although, to be quite honest, he’d take Justin sneaking around to him going on vigilante missions. At least affairs didn’t usually lead to somebody getting killed, unless it was the bunny in _Fatal Attraction_. Brian smiled, envisioning boiling Cody and Ethan up for a delicious stew.

He glanced back at the clock. 12:17. Shit.

No, Justin wasn’t having an affair. But Brian couldn’t help but wonder if he even knew who Justin was anymore. He only hoped it wasn’t permanent.

As if on cue, the door slid open, and Justin silently walked into the loft. Brian watched, not moving a muscle, as Justin stripped off his shirt and headed into the bathroom. Then came the harsh sounds of Justin puking into the toilet.

Brian didn’t say anything as Justin turned on the shower while he stood at the sink to brush his teeth, even though it was a fucking waste of water. He tamped down the urge to join him in the shower, even as the clock ticked past 12:32, then 12:44, then 1:08. When the water finally stopped at 1:24 and Justin slowly emerged from the bathroom and pulled on a pair of sweatpants, Brian only stretched his arms slightly, mainly to alert Justin that he was still awake so he wouldn’t risk startling him.

But once Justin was in bed, covered by the blankets, staring up at the ceiling, Brian found himself uncharacteristically unsure of what to do. Tentatively, he moved his hand closest to Justin’s thigh ever so slightly, so it was just barely grazing his skin. To his surprise, Justin latched onto it and clung tight.

“Hey,” Brian whispered, and suddenly he had an armful of Justin. He didn’t say anything as Justin shook in his embrace, silent sobs coursing through his body. Shit. Brian couldn’t remember the last time he’d seen Justin cry. Probably when he first started living with him after the bashing. But even then it was usually only after a particularly vivid nightmare, and it was never as _raw_ as this. In a way, it made sense. At the time, Justin had been so focused on getting better, proving to everybody that he wasn’t damaged and he wasn’t a fucking little kid. He’d wanted his life to return to normal as quickly as possible, and that didn’t leave much time to grieve.

Still, Brian was completely out of his element. Grieving? He didn’t even know how to do that himself. He’d been a fucking mess after Justin’s bashing. While he may have been able to help Justin re-adjust to living among the masses and recover some of his memories, it was clear he’d failed in ensuring Justin had recovered emotionally from the attack.

Like that was a fucking surprise.

“I almost killed him,” Justin said. “Hobbs. I could have. I literally could have killed him. And I almost did. Because if anybody had the right to, it was me. An eye for a fucking eye. Why does he get to walk around like nothing ever happened and I’m like … this?”

Brian stroked his back.

“I didn’t do it,” Justin said. “But I just couldn’t bring myself to pull the trigger. Because it would have meant that I was no better than he was.”

Brian couldn’t help but imagine what must have happened that night. Did he contemplate killing Hobbs from a distance, wondering how far the bullet would fly? Did Justin have Hobbs pressed up against a wall, the gun pressed up against his head? Did he make Hobbs kneel, take the barrel in his mouth? Brian resisted the urge to shudder, knowing Justin would feel it and clam up, and instead held Justin tighter.

“You’re so much more than he could ever fucking dream of,” Brian said, his voice disconcertingly raspy. “You had the opportunity, and you thought of something beyond your own anger. That makes you a million times more than man than Chris Hobbs.”

“But I was so close,” Justin insisted. “I wanted to. I wanted to be the one to end it. Have the final say.” He sighed. “What the fuck am I going to do? It feels so unfinished.”

“Well, this isn’t fucking Dickens,” Brian said. “This story doesn’t need to be tied up in a nice little bow. You made your stand. Hobbs knows you won’t be backed into a corner -- but he knew that then. Why else do you think he hit you from behind, like a scared fucking little pussy? You always stood up for yourself. No matter what.”

“I just can’t stop thinking of what if … if I had killed him. What would have happened?”

“We would have had to run away,” Brian said, slowly rubbing the top of Justin’s head. He did enjoy the feeling beneath his fingers, but he missed Justin’s longer strands. Sure, he looked fucking hot with the shaved head, but the long hair just _felt_ more like Brian’s Sunshine. “Perhaps to Rio. Or maybe New Zealand. Or Mexico.”

Justin froze. “You’d go with me?”

“Yeah,” Brian said. “Somebody has to keep you out of trouble. And, as you pointed out just a few weeks ago, I still owe you a vacation.”

“Some vacation,” Justin said. “Running from the law.”

“Sounds pretty hot to me,” Brian said, finally beginning to press soft kisses against Justin’s neck. “A homo Bonnie and Clyde.”

Justin laughed, reaching out to grasp Brian’s hair. But, just as suddenly, the lightness faded from his eyes once more. “You were right, you know.”

“Well, I’m rarely wrong,” Brian said. “This shouldn’t surprise you anymore.”

“I fucked up. I was just so angry with myself, so intent on revenge, that I let myself become a fucking puppet for a goddamn sociopath. It went against everything I believe in.” He shook his head. “I don’t know how you can even look at me.”

Brian sighed. As far as he knew, there was only one way to snap Justin out of this cycle. Rolling away, he reached for a condom and handed it to Justin. “Because I know you.”

Justin blinked. “Brian.”

It just went to show how messed up Justin was feeling. Usually he jumped at the opportunity to fuck Brian, grabbing the condom as quickly as possible in case Brian changed his mind. And it was only a few nights ago that Brian had outright denied him, for what was very likely the exact same reason Justin was hesitating right now. He was wary, guarded, as he stared at the condom in his hand, looking as if he’d never seen such an item before in his life.

“Go on,” Brian said. “Do you think I offer up my ass to just anybody?” He leaned up and captured Justin’s mouth in a kiss. “Come on, Sunshine. Fuck me.”

Justin actually looked like he was going to vomit again. Definitely not the reaction Brian was aiming for, but he could understand, under the circumstances. Very actively resisting the urge to sigh, he reached over for the lube and squirted some on his fingers. “Guess I’ll have to get us started, then.”

Brian kept his eyes on Justin the entire time his fingers stretched his hole. He paid careful attention to the hitch in Justin’s breath, the way a slight sheen broke out across his chest, the way his eyes kept darting from Brian’s face to his hardening dick to his probing fingers. He was still hesitant, but he didn’t seem ready to bolt for the door at any second. Brian took Justin’s hand and held it over his own, and together they worked Brian’s fingers in and out of his ass.

Shit, traumatic evening or not, it was hot as hell. It almost made Brian consider doing this more often. Almost.

“Ready?” Brian asked.

Justin nodded, and finally tugged off his sweatpants and tore open the condom wrapper. After sheathing his dick, he moved to turn Brian over.

“Not this time, Sunshine,” Brian said. “All eyes on me. I want you to see exactly who you’re fucking.”

Justin’s eyes widened, just as Brian knew they would. He couldn’t even remember the last time he’d been fucked face-front. Maybe his freshman year of college. Actually having to look at the person pounding into him required a level of openness he didn’t find in his tricks. They would look down at him, knowing they owned him, were dominating him, were in complete control of his pleasure. Brian Kinney didn’t stand for that.

And while he knew Justin would never hold it against him, old habits died hard. On the rare occasion Justin topped, Brian would roll over, reach for the pillow or headboard, and hold on tight. But tonight required something more. Brian only hoped he was ready.

Justin entered him slowly, and Brian could see that his arms, braced on either side of him, were already trembling. Normally Brian would tell him to man up, to just fucking _fuck_ him, already, but Justin needed to get there on his own time. Brian would simply have to practice the art of patience.

But that didn’t mean he couldn’t offer a little encouragement.

Brian pulled Justin down into a long, heated kiss. It worked better than a hot oil massage, as the tension all but entirely eased out of Justin’s body. Brian would have smirked, taken the time to congratulate himself for getting the old Justin back, but Justin was already thrusting in and out, never once stopping kissing him, and it was all rather distracting. And then when Justin managed to find his prostate?

Well.

All bets were off.

Brian arched his back, moaning as Justin hit that glorious spot with every other thrust. He couldn’t resist grabbing a hold of his cock, stroking it in time with Justin’s rhythm. But throughout it all, he tried his damndest to keep eye contact with Justin.

It was nearly his undoing. Fuck, they really _did_ need to do this more often. Justin’s eyes, already obscenely expressive on even the most normal of days, were nearly overwhelming in the intensity of their gaze. There was lust, possessiveness, disbelief, and, yes, just a bit of awe. _Not to mention that other hidden emotion that Brian refused to articulate._ All directed right at Brian. It was the hottest fucking thing he’d ever seen.

“That’s it,” Brian ground out. “Look at me. Tell me. Who are you fucking?”

“You,” Justin said, pulling Brian’s legs further around him to improve his leverage. “Fuck!”

“Yeah,” Brian agreed. “Do it, Justin. Make me come. Make me shoot my load all over you.”

Never one to back down from a challenge, not even now, _especially_ not now, Justin pounded into Brian harder. He covered the length of Brian’s body with his own, holding him down, holding him _tight_ , hard enough to leave bruises, while he covered Brian’s neck, face, any part of his skin he could touch with hard, wet kisses. Brian came with a shout, which only seemed to spur Justin on more. He pulled back slightly, just enough so he could see Brian’s eyes.

“Fuck, Brian,” Justin whispered. “If you could see how you looked right now …”

“Well fucked?”

“Oh, yes,” Justin said, still moving within him, although his rhythm was faltering slightly. “ _So_ well fucked. With your come on your chest.”

“Some on yours, too,” Brian managed to make out.

“Shit!”

“I want you to come,” Brian said. “Do it. Come in my ass.”

“Christ! Brian!” Justin gave one more hard thrust, then stilled, groaning as he came. He held himself there for a moment, drawing deep breaths, before finally collapsing beside Brian, who wrapped an arm around him and pulled him close, dropping kisses on the top of his head.

“So,” Brian said, once their breathing returned to a steadier rate, “do you want to talk about it?”

Justin chuckled. “What, fucking you? Weren’t you there? Why do you want a full report?”

“No,” Brian said. “I know that’s an exquisite pleasure that’s impossible to capture with mere words.” He kissed Justin’s forehead. “I mean prom.”

Justin froze, and Brian was briefly concerned he’d made a tremendous miscalculation. “You don’t like talking about it,” Justin finally said.

“No, I don’t,” Brian said without hesitation. “It was, without a doubt, one of the worst experiences of my life. And you, of all people, should know how emotionally stunted I am. If it were just me here, I’d be fine pretending it never happened, let alone ever talk about it again.”

Justin tilted his head, and Brian drew a breath.

“But it’s not just me. I’m not even the one who took a fucking bat to the head. But I was the only other person there that night, and if there’s anybody who can come remotely close to understanding what you went through, it’s me. So, if you want to talk about it, whether it’s tonight or tomorrow or next year, I want you to come to me. And I’ll stop being such a goddamn pussy about it.”

Justin closed his eyes. When he re-opened them, they were suspiciously wet, and Brian dreaded the thought of having to endure another round of tears. “I want to,” he said. “But I don’t … I don’t know if I can look at you during it. It feels too … close.” He laughed, but without a shred of humor. “Which is fucking stupid, given what we just did, but…”

Brian nodded, and after briefly kissing him on the mouth, gently turned Justin to face the other direction. “We’ll work our way to that,” he said. Wrapping his arms securely around him, he kissed the back of Justin’s neck. “Whenever you’re ready.”

They stayed like that for a long time, curled up against each other, wide awake in the dark, not moving a muscle.

Then, finally, just as the little hand on the clock passed the three, Justin cleared his throat. “I still see his face,” he whispered.

Brian only drew him closer and, until the sun came up, listened.

~*~

Judy glances over at me. “How are you holding up?” she asks quietly.

I bite my lip as I attempt to filter out Brian’s emotions running through me so I can focus on my own. Even so, it’s no easy feat to describe what it was like to watch that scene. Normally, proof that even alpha male, top dog Brian occasionally bottomed would be the type of gossip the gang would delight in for ages. But right now it’s lost on me, as I think about what it meant for Brian to offer that to Justin at that moment. Brian, who scoffs at any expression of sentimentality or meaningful conversation, had been able to make Justin see that he had faith in him, that while he may have been lost for a little while, he was still Justin Taylor, and Brian still trusted him more than anybody in the world.

“Let me guess,” she says as I continue to struggle to put words to my thoughts. “A little confused, a bit amused, very much turned on, a bit of guilt for feeling said arousal, very moved by how clearly Brian cares for Justin and how Justin finds comfort with Brian, and rather heartbroken that two men so young have already experienced so much pain?”

I frown. “Did God give you mind-reading powers as well as this magical TV screen?”

“Oh, no, baby,” Judy laughs. “I had that power even when I was dancing among the living.”

I reach over and squeeze Judy’s hand, and she smiled warmly back at me. She really is a marvelous lady, and I’m thankful God allowed us to cross paths early on in my stay in the afterlife. Emmett was going to die when he met her. Well, figuratively, of course.

“I should warn you, Vic,” she says. “You may be … familiar with what comes next.”

I nod. Justin’s hair had just been starting to grow out when I’d passed over, so it makes sense. I spent much of my time when I first arrived here obsessively watching my family. It had been devastating to view them all -- Monty grieving for the long life we’d planned together, Deb tearing herself apart over an argument that she knew we would have gotten over in a week or two had my heart managed to beat on, all my friends uncharacteristically subdued -- and not be able to do anything to assuage their pain.

Except for Brian, of course. He’d actually had the right idea. I’d been well aware I’d been living on borrowed time, and each damn day I had after receiving that initial dire news had been a gift. Brian understood that, and I was beginning to see why.

I’d been busy moping, as new souls are prone to do when they first pass over, especially if it’s before many of their loved ones arrive, when Judy, dressed in an exquisite gold lamé gown, had touched my shoulder. Once I’d finished having another heart attack -- figuratively, of course -- she’d pulled me up and said, “come on, Vic. I have a job for you that I think you’ll enjoy.”

That job, of course, had been to torment Brian a bit about his testicular cancer. Well, in Judy’s words, it had been “to help him come to terms with his diagnosis and allow him to see that he must continue to fight, and he will be well,” but she’d also assured me that I’d have complete creative control over how I’d accomplish that.

It had really been the job that had gotten me back on my feet and allowed me to adjust to my new life. For one, it had been fucking fun as hell to completely freak Brian out. For another, I’d been able to have some pretty amazing costume changes that I’d never been able to take part in when living. But, truly, it gave me a sense of purpose, and allowed me to help one of my friends through his pain … even if it was the last person on earth who would have accepted it when I was alive.

“I didn’t watch him all the time,” I point out. “Just enough so I could set the scene when I visited him.”

“True,” Judy says, and picks up the remote. “Then perhaps this _will_ be new for you.”

~*~

“Do you mind not leaving your fucking shoes just lying around? I almost broke my neck.”

Justin, infuriatingly, didn’t even look up from stirring sugar into his coffee. “Sorry, Bri,” he said. “I’ll move them.”

“Well, too late,” Brian said, stepping into the kitchen. “And I suppose it’s too much to expect you didn’t use up all the coffee beans for your cup of joe?”

Justin took a sip from his mug and nodded toward the thermos on the counter. “Brewed strong, black.”

Brian grunted and grabbed his drink, taking a quick sip. Finding nothing to criticize, he took another, longer swallow.

“I was going to make some scrambled eggs,” Justin said, all too casually. “Want some?”

“Don’t you have class?” Brian asked.

“Not till eleven,” Justin said. “If you don’t have time for breakfast, I can throw together a salad for you for lunch. I’ve got some hard-boiled eggs, lots of spinach --”

“And full-fat salad dressing?”

Justin shrugged. “Tastes better. And there have been plenty of studies recently that show foods labeled as low-calorie are actually less healthy than their original counterparts.”

“Uh huh.”

“Oh, and I had a buy one, get one coupon for cashews, so if you wanted to take some to work to snack on -- “

Brian set his coffee down and leaned over the island to glare at Justin. “You’re _not_ my fucking wife,” he snarled. “I don’t need you to make me a nutritious breakfast, or pack me a lunch in a brown paper bag with a note in it telling me to have a wonderful day.”

“Brian.”

“I have to go to work,” Brian said. “Why don’t you spend the night with Daphne for a change? Maybe she’ll apprec --”

Brian suddenly found himself with his arms full of Justin. Reluctantly, because he was long past the time when he could entirely resist Justin’s mouth, he kissed him back before finally pushing him away. “Don’t try to fucking distract me.”

“Fine,” Justin said. “I’ll get right to the point, then. I know exactly what you’re doing.”

“Oh, really,” Brian said, crossing his arms. “Go on. Tell me. What _exactly_ am I doing? Other than indulging a suddenly domestic little twat who’s keeping me late for work?”

“I know you have an appointment tomorrow,” Justin said. “And you’re acting like an asshole because even after everything we went through before, even though you know I’m not going to leave you, you’re still uncomfortable with my seeing you at anything less than your perfect self. So you think that if you piss me off enough, I won’t be around to witness you being remotely vulnerable, or insist on taking you to your doctor’s appointment, or do anything else to support you through this because you’re Brian Kinney and you don’t need anybody’s help. Sound about right?”

“That’s such bullshit,” Brian said. “I don’t give a shit if you come to my doctor’s appointment. If you feel like sitting in a waiting room and reading _Good Housekeeping_ while I get my ball zapped, that’s your prerogative. But I don’t need you sitting around and making sure I get my five servings of fucking fruits a day.”

“Fine,” Justin said. “So if I don’t insist that you take this perfectly ripe banana to the office today, I can take you to your appointment tomorrow?”

Under the pretense of needing to gather materials to stash in his briefcase, Brian looked away. He had no desire for _anybody_ to be with him that day. Hell, he’d still prefer it if nobody knew he had cancer, and he could simply pretend he had a business trip or was taking a random Thursday off. It had been his plan before, back when he’d assumed his superior body wouldn’t succumb to any of the side effects typically associated with radiation therapy.

But he also couldn’t help but remember what it had felt like when he’d had his surgery. Even with the deep desire to keep this humiliating diagnosis secret, he’d found himself wishing he’d slipped up, wishing that he hadn’t been able to will himself not to speak when Justin caught him slipping away from Kinnetik and told him the truth, wishing that Justin had somehow snooped around enough to figure out out. Because it had been true, what Brian had told Justin when he’d returned from “Ibiza” and drove him to school: he’d missed him. Not even a four hour flight to Baltimore, and less than two weeks apart, but Brian had craved Justin’s presence like none other. Nauseatingly, he kept hearing Justin’s words promising to be there when he got back playing over and over in his head. In fact, the refrain was the reason why Brian had booked a flight back one week after surgery instead of his doctor’s recommended two, the only thing that got Brian out of bed, still sore and fatigued, the day of said flight, the only reason he forced himself to stop by the Diner instead of sleeping for an extra thirty minutes before going in to work. All because he wanted to see if Sunshine would stay true to his word and still be there, waiting for him with that goddamn smile of his and open arms. It was fucking pathetic.

Even after he’d thrown Justin out, the feeling hadn’t faded. Hell, it was why he’d been so viciously adamant that Justin stay away, because he knew that he was fucking weak enough that if Sunshine had arrived at just the right moment, Brian never would have been able to turn him away again. And then he’d be right back to where he started, waiting and wondering all while he was puking his guts out when Justin would finally have enough and walk away, or, worse, at what point Justin would stop … feeling the way that he did but still feel obligated to stick around out of guilt or pity.

Secretly, Brian had never been as relieved as the moment he’d found Justin once again in his loft, angrily demanding he eat some fucking chicken soup. It was, although he’d never admit it, rather nice to have a, dare he say it, partner when dealing with a health crisis. Especially when the partner was somebody like Justin.

When he woke up parched in the middle of the night, there was a bottle of water on the bedside table. When he found himself barely able to stand in the middle of the day, Justin would make some sort of excuse for him to join him on the couch and then cover them both with a light blanket before eventually slipping away to dim the lights and prepare dinner. And if he started to live up to the name of his superhero alter ego, Justin was there to soothe away the tension with a quiet embrace. And somehow he managed to do it so quietly, so discreetly, without making Brian feel like an invalid, or a goddamn child. He just felt, well ...

The point was, Brian had done his research on cancer. He’d spent hours on Google, mainly searching for terms like “is surgery really fucking necessary,” “was my doctor bullshitting my prognosis,” and “will I still be able to fuck if I only have one ball.” He’d mostly ended up on sites for straight men concerned if they’d still be able to have kids. Straight guys. So fucking egotistical, concerned more about passing on their genes than living their own lives. Brian knew exactly how to take this diagnosis and, conceding the defeat of one of his balls, knew how to grab the other and fucking survive.

But Justin had done his research, too. Brian had caught him, before Justin had wised up and remembered to clear his browser history. He clearly spent hours on Google as well. But his search terms were completely different from Brian’s. They were things like “dealing with side effects of radiation for testicular cancer,” and “healthy diets to maintain body weight after radiation therapy,” even, God help him, “supporting your partner after testicular cancer.” He wasn’t just going to make sure Brian survived. He was going to make sure he _lived_.

Really, Brian should have realized Justin was clearly going to stick around whether Brian wanted him there or not., just like he always had. And, pathetic as it may be, Brian realized that not only did he want him there, but it wouldn’t even take something severe as waterboarding or the like to get him to admit that out loud. And fuck it all if that thought alone didn’t scare the shit out of him.

“Brian?”

“I’m leaving for the appointment at a quarter of nine,” Brian said. “Don’t be late. And _don’t_ tell anybody.”

Justin smiled. “Wouldn’t dream of it,” he said, and kissed Brian again. “I was thinking of picking up some ice cream on my way back from class tonight. We could have our own private ice cream party.”

Brian snorted. He’d seen the list Justin had printed out that he’d thought he’d carefully hidden away in his art sketches -- not so hidden when one considered Justin could be a fucking slob when he was in one of his creative moods and scattered his work all over the place. Ice cream was one of the highlighted items, as a type of food that was calorie-rich and would help maintain body weight, while also being soft enough so the patient could swallow it in case the radiation therapy led to a sore mouth, an occasional side effect of treatment. “Vanilla only,” he murmured into Justin’s ear. “I like how it looks like come when you get it all over your face.”

Justin laughed and swatted Brian’s ass as he grabbed his suitcase. “See you tonight?”

“Yeah.” Brian nodded and, after a brief hesitation, reached for the banana. “Later.”

~*~

“You know,” I say, as the images on the screen come to a halt. “I never realized it quite as much when I was alive, but Brian changed a lot over those years. It’s almost as if Justin arrived and Brian entered a second puberty. In more ways than one.”

“Why don’t you think you noticed it?” Judy asks.

“I think we were just distracted,” I say. “It was definitely a huge change that Brian was seeing the same trick so often, especially one so young, and then that he gradually came to not glare and grumble so much if somebody referred to them as boyfriends or partners. It was like that was the biggest, most obvious new part of Brian’s life, and none of us looked all that much closer to see _why_ that change came about.”

“And even bigger changes to come,” Judy says.

I look up to the screen. The images are no longer paused, but instead moving without sound, just like when we had watched Brian’s breakdown following Justin’s bashing. It only takes a second before I realize what’s playing before us: the bombing of Babylon.

“I remember watching that night live,” Judy says quietly. “I wanted to see Cyndi -- she was wearing my outfit and imitating my moves, so I had to make sure she was doing me justice -- and then …”

I shake my head. I’d missed the initial explosion, but I’d heard the chaos all around and had hurried to join the others to see what the commotion was, to see what was happening on earth that had managed to cause such turmoil up here. I’d been horrified to see what had happened to the place that had once practically been a second home to me. And then I had ran to the gates, waiting, to see if any of my friends would be joining me.

A few did. I recognized one of Lindsay and Mel’s friends, a couple of regulars from the Diner, a man I’d gone on a single date with decades ago, before I was positive. For a while I saw Michael floating back and forth, but eventually he’d been spared.

I force myself to look back up at the screen. Yes, I had seen all this before. Brian searching through the burning wreckage of his pride and joy, panicked, trying to locate Justin. Everybody waiting in the emergency room to see if Michael would pull through. All that death, all that pain, all that grief and anger and disbelief. The entire gay community of Pittsburgh was shaken to its core, and Brian Kinney was no exception.

“Now, we’re running short on time,” Judy says. “And I’d feel bad about that, except I know you were watching the next bit like a middle-aged housewife watches her soaps, you old queen.”

It’s true. In my defense, however, I hadn’t been alone. The moment Brian proposed to Justin, anybody who’d witnessed his reign at Babylon had dropped everything to see how it would turn out. We’d sat there, utterly transfixed, while Justin let go the last of his defenses as Brian transformed into a romantic, loving fiancé. At the time, I’d marveled at how strange and out of character it had been, enough so that it felt like watching a movie where Brian and Justin were playing the roles of somebody else. I’d spent the time waiting for the other shoe to drop, and the eventual cancellation of the wedding had seemed inevitable. But now, having witnessed the entirety of Brian’s life, having felt what he felt, it all makes sense.

Justin, still young in years despite his emotional maturity, had likely gotten caught up in marriage fever sweeping his friends. And Brian, still reeling from the prospect of losing Justin _again_ , had realized he would do anything in the world to make sure that never happened again, including changing who he was.

Except now, looking back at it all, I wonder just how much of it was Brian trying to be the person he thought Justin wanted him to be, and rather more Brian simply _revealing_ new most hidden layers of himself. Don’t get me wrong: the Brian Kinney we all knew and, yes, loved, would never be that reserved, would never have gone monogamous, would never have acted so, well, tame. But it was fucking plain as day that he loved Justin more than anything else in the world, and that he would do absolutely anything for him. That much, at least, had been true all along. Brian had just done his best to keep it a secret. But, I could see now, Brian was just figuring out his hand. If he played his cards right, if he gave more of himself, _much_ more of himself, than he ever had before, perhaps he’d gain all that in return. And if it meant giving up tricks or wearing a ring on his finger, so be it.

“And yet Justin left anyway,” I murmur. That makes sense, as well. We forgot it at times, but Justin was still very young. He had great dreams ahead of him, many of which involved Brian, but some that would require him to be on his own. And if he hadn’t taken the chance then, who knew what would have happened? He likely would have ended up resenting Brian, and Brian would have resented having to give up his lifestyle, and they would have ended up separated, perhaps for good this time, although for very different reasons than most of their friends would have expected.

But still, it had to be devastating for Brian. For Justin as well, of course, but he was going onwards to new, exciting adventures. Brian was left in Pittsburgh, raw from the emotional upheaval of the last few months. He had risked it all, and for what? He may be assured that Justin loved him, and he might take comfort in that Justin knew he loved him just as strongly. But he was alone, and in a way he never had been before, because now he truly knew what it felt like _not_ to be.

“So, where exactly in time are we?” I ask. It is, after all, rather difficult to keep straight. There’s no real concept of time in the afterlife, even as the clock continues to tick steadily in the mortal plane. “Did Justin just leave, and that’s why Brian’s gone in such a tailspin?”

“Not quite,” Judy says. “We still have about a year and a half to go before we get to the present-day. Although by now, I’d say the stage has been set for the evening that makes this all necessary.”

“Already?” I ask, confused. “But if there’s still nearly two years to go …”

“If I were to ask you right now what five things Brian Kinney fears the most are, what would you say?” Judy interrupts.

“Well, growing old, for one,” I say. It was always the obvious answer, but now I can see even that was not entirely for the reasons we’d always believed. Sure, Brian’s always been a vain shit, and growing into a weak, feeble old man went against everything he stood for. But now I see it extends even deeper than that -- growing old, for Brian, would mean that he’s outlived any purpose he has in this world, that he no longer had anything to offer the people he called friends, whom he somehow believed he only had a tenuous hold of.

“That was a freebie,” Judy says. “Four more.”

“Failure,” I say. “Not being in control of whatever situation he finds himself in.”

“Good, two more down. Go on.”

“Having to show any sort of vulnerability,” I say, even though I could have guessed that earlier as well. Everybody knew it, even if -- or perhaps, because -- Brian denied it so fiercely.

“And finally?”

I look back up at the screen. Brian is lying nude on his stomach, his arms outstretched in a soft circle above him. For a moment I think the screen has again been paused, but when Brian shudders ever so slightly, as though simply drawing a rather harsh breath, I realize it was only that he was lying so very still for so very long. “Losing Justin,” I say, my voice catching in my throat.

“Bingo,” Judy whispers. “And just like with any man, if you take all those toxic ingredients and put them in a cauldron, and stir them up, what do you think you’re going to get? The perfect poison. Slow-acting, but all the more deadly because of it.”

I frown. From the way the sun is now streaming through the window shades, I know some time has passed, but Brian still hasn’t moved. I close my eyes, taking a moment to steel myself for what’s ahead, the part of Brian’s life that I have not yet seen. When I open them, I feel no more prepared, but I nod to Judy anyway. “Let’s see it.”


End file.
